Serendipity: The 32nd Hunger Games
by Wonder Tribute
Summary: Serendipity: The occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way. Closed SYOT
1. Rosamund

**Serendipity: The 32nd Hunger Games**

* * *

 **Prologue**

* * *

 **Rosamund Currant, 17  
** **District Eleven  
** **Victor of the 31st Hunger Games**

Rosamund couldn't stop thinking about how random it all seemed. One moment, she had been a tribute – the next moment, a Victor. One moment, she had been hungry and dirty and tired, caked with mud from the mudslide she had barely survived, struggling to keep her head above the mud a little longer than her opponent. The next moment, none of it had mattered. The fanfare had sounded, and they had come to save her.

That had been almost a year ago. Almost a year since they had lifted her out of the arena and brought her to safety. Almost a year since she had realized that she would be the one coming home. She had survived, when so many others had failed.

It didn't seem fair. It didn't seem to make any sense. But she was alive.

And she wasn't going to let that go to waste.

Rosamund threw on a long red dress, ready to head to the square for the reaping. Maybe there was no rhyme or reason to it. Maybe there was no reason why _she_ had been the one to survive. Why she had lasted a little longer than the boy from Five in the muddy waters that had threatened to envelope them both. Maybe it was just luck.

Just chance.

Just serendipity.

The word made Rosamund smile a little. It was luck, but, for once, it had been _good_ luck. Bad luck had led to her being reaped. Well, bad luck and the amount of tesserae she'd had to take to support her family. But _good_ luck had kept her alive when so many others had died.

And this year, good luck would keep another tribute alive. Maybe one of hers. Maybe someone else's. She would do her best, of course, but in the end, it was out of her hands.

Rosalind looked out at the children who had already begun to gather in the square. Under her breath, she whispered the same words she had heard at her own reaping.

 _May the odds be ever in your favor_.

* * *

 **This is an open SYOT. The guidelines and tribute form are on my profile.**


	2. Thalia, Wade, Ichabod, and Cherry

**Tribute Intros Part I  
** **Thalia, Wade, Ichabod, and Cherry**

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

 _One. Two. Three._ Thalia whirled around again, her katana slicing through the air and across the dummy as if it were made of paper. The sound was almost soothing. Relaxing. The weapon slid easily out of the dummy, and Thalia turned towards another. And another.

It was better to practice with other people, of course, but there was no one else here this early. No one else who had put in the same time and effort that she had. Certainly not this close to the reaping. Those who wouldn't be volunteering had probably decided to take a few days off. A few days to relax.

She never had. Even during last year's Games, she had continued to train. She couldn't afford to lose any time. Not now. Not when she was so close. So close now, she could almost taste it.

This year would be perfect.

Last year's tributes had been a disappointment. She could have done better, even then. But this year … this year would be _spectacular._

 _One. Two. Three._ Almost like a dance. Like the ballets the district was used to seeing her perform with her sisters. This would be another show. A performance. She would give her best act yet, and the audience would cheer across Panem. It would be perfect. _She_ would be perfect. And she only had to wait a few more days…

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

"Wade! Get out here!" his mother called for what was at least the fifth time. Wade groaned and buried his head a little further under the blankets. He was _almost_ done. Just a few more pages left…

"Wade!" One of his brothers this time. "Come _on_! We're going to be late!"

Wade scowled as he set aside his comic book. As if being late for school was such a terrible thing. He was failing all of his classes, anyway. Obviously his teachers didn't care whether he arrived on time or not. In fact, they would probably be _grateful_ if he didn't show up.

Carefully, he tucked the comic book under the edge of his bed. Maybe if his life was a bit more exciting, he wouldn't mind dragging himself out of bed. But life in District Five was so _boring_. Nothing _ever_ happened here. Well, nothing _good_ , at least. Certainly nothing like the stories in his comic books.

 _Real life isn't a story._ That was what his mother would say, if she caught him saying anything of the sort. And of course he knew that was true. It wasn't as if he was a little kid. But, still, was it so bad to want something _more_ than life in District Five had to offer? Was it so bad to think he was meant for something greater, something _better_? Why couldn't they see how special he was?

* * *

 **Ichabod Garjan, 13  
** **District Seven**

Reaping day was always special, because it meant none of them had to work. Ichabod smiled up at his older brother Marcus as they sat down with their parents. There wasn't much for breakfast, but they passed around what little they had – what was left of a stale loaf of bread and a few carrots that Marcus had managed to buy in the square.

Maybe it wasn't much, but it wasn't the food that counted. It was the people. Only one more year, and Marcus would be safe from the reaping forever. Just one more year to go. But that also meant that Marcus' name was in the bowl more times. Thirty-five times, to be exact, which seemed like a lot compared to Ichabod's mere ten slips.

Marcus gave Ichabod's shoulder a squeeze. "You all right?"

Ichabod nodded. He'd made it through last year's reaping safe and sound. Was there any reason to think this year would be any different? Yes, he had more slips in the reaping bowl this year, but there were always so many other names. So many people whose names would be in even more times. There was always someone else. Someone less lucky.

Or, at least, he hoped there would be.

Ichabod squeezed Marcus' hand. Maybe once they got back from the reaping, they could have a little celebration. He could congratulate Marcus on making it through seven years of the reaping without being chosen. Maybe it wasn't much, but it was something to be grateful for.

* * *

 **Cherimoya 'Cherry' Thatch, 16  
** **District Eleven**

She was just grateful she wouldn't have to go to school today. Cherry fidgeted with her hair as her little sister Lavender raced through the room. Cherry reached down and caught the five-year-old in her arms. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Mommy wanted to make me put on a dress!" Lavender squealed.

Cherry chuckled. "Oh, is that all?"

"It's itchy!" Lavender protested.

Cherry ruffled her little sister's hair. She'd never really seen much point in making the younger kids get dressed up for the reaping. It barely made sense to ask the ones who were actually _eligible_ for the reaping to dress nicely. It wasn't as if the Capitol was going to pay attention to what the kids from District Eleven were wearing. It wasn't as if any of them really owned anything fancy.

And the younger kids … that just didn't make sense at all. Why force five-year-olds to get dressed up for their older siblings' reapings? Was it just in case the cameras wanted to focus on the tributes' families? Was the audience really going to make any decisions about whether to sponsor a tribute based on what a little kid was wearing?

It wasn't as if District Eleven got a lot of sponsors _anyway._ Even last year, Rosamund had made it to the final five and killed nearly half the tributes in the arena before the sponsors had seen fit to send her _anything_. She'd been doing just fine without their help. The Capitol certainly hadn't cared what her family had been wearing.

Cherry shook the thought from her head. With any luck, it wouldn't matter what Lavender was wearing, either. After all, she'd made it through four reapings already. Why should this one be any different?


	3. Artemis

**Interlude**

* * *

 **Artemis Aventurine, 48  
** **District One  
** **Victor of the First Hunger Games**

She'd never admitted to anyone just how lucky she'd gotten. Artemis rolled the die over in her hand as she took the stage long with her fellow Victors. She was only here, onstage, a _Victor_ , because she had volunteered. She had only volunteered because she had been desperate.

They had _all_ been desperate.

Six of them, orphaned, living on the streets after the rebellion. Too old to go to the community homes, too young to get a decent job. The Games had been a beacon of hope. A promise of wealth and comfort and plenty to anyone who had the courage to seize the opportunity.

So they had rolled for it, and the number five had come up. Her number. She had volunteered – the Hunger Games' _first_ volunteer. The only volunteer the first year. That was her first stroke of luck. The Capitol had eaten up her story. The audience had loved her.

The audience _still_ loved her.

Her second stroke of luck had come at the start of the Games. The timer had begun to count down, the tributes all standing on their pedestals. All waiting. She hadn't wanted to wait. The Gamemakers had instructed them to stay put during the countdown, but she had never been one to play by the rules. She had been about to step off her pedestal.

But the boy beside her had moved first. The boy from Twelve, who would go down in history as the first casualty of the Hunger Games. That could have been her. Another few seconds, and it _would_ have been her. In a way, he had saved her life.

He hadn't been the last. Twenty-three tributes had died so that she could live. But she had made their sacrifice mean something. After welcoming her fellow orphans into her home in Victors' Village, she had founded District One's first training academy. She had given others like her a place where they could succeed, where they could thrive, where they could _live._ And that was worth the price that had been paid.


	4. Decima, Stanley, Freya, and Clemence

**Tribute Intros Part II  
** **Decima, Stanley, Freya, and Clemence**

* * *

 **Decima Clear, 17  
** **District Two**

They had chosen her! Decima couldn't help a smile as the head trainer announced her name to the room full of hopeful trainees. There were a few groans from the eighteen-year-old section, but they would respect the trainers' decision. If they thought she was the best suited to volunteer, then this was her year.

This _had_ to be her year.

A few of her fellow trainees gave her high fives and pats on the back as she left, congratulating her, telling her how _proud_ they were. Proud. She had expected to feel proud, or maybe excited, or … something. But all she felt was _relieved_. She would finally get to be in the Games. She would finally get to escape.

Decima took off jogging as soon as she split off from her friends. She would take the long way home today. She usually did, especially when her mother was in a mood. There would be hell to pay when she got home, but if she put it off long enough, maybe her mother would be asleep.

Suddenly, a tiny _mew_ in the alleyway caught her attention. Decima turned to see a stray cat hiding behind one of the buildings. She slowed to a stop, reached into her pocket, and pulled out what was left of the sandwich she'd packed for lunch. "I'll be gone for a while in a few days," Decima whispered to the cat as she fed it a few morsels. "But don't you worry. I'll be back soon, and then everything will be all right."

* * *

 **Stanley Newton, 18  
** **District Three**

Maybe things were going to work out, after all. Stanley breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the results of the exam posted on the board. He'd placed 23rd overall in his class. A class of thousands. Twenty-third wasn't high enough to win any awards or anything, but it was high enough to guarantee him a job outside of the factories. His parents would be so proud.

"Stanley."

As the other students began to file out of the room, Stanley turned to Professor Kelvin. "Yes, Sir?"

"When I saw your results, I had a word with my brother over at the lab. He's recently found himself in need of a new research assistant. The pay is minimal for now, but you'd have the opportunity to continue your studies – and it would be good hands-on experience. What do you say?"

For a moment, he couldn't say _anything_. "Why me? There are kids with higher scores—"

"He didn't _want_ someone with a higher score. He wanted a hard worker who's willing to learn, and I told him that's you. But if you'd rather I recommend someone else—"

"No!" Stanley exclaimed, a little louder than he'd intended. "I mean … no, Sir. Thank you, Professor. I don't know how I can ever thank you enough."

Professor Kelvin clapped him on the back. "I'll tell you how you can thank me. Get through the reaping tomorrow. Work hard for my brother. And do something good with your life." He smiled. "That'll be thanks enough."

* * *

 **Freya Clearwater, 17  
** **District Four**

Freya held her breath as her brother and sister continued to argue in whispered voices in the other room. "You can't, Danny," Fionn insisted. "It's too dangerous. If we just give her time, maybe she'll get better."

"Does she _look_ like she's getting better?" Danielle hissed back. "Mom needs medicine, and she needs it soon. If I win the Games, we'll have more than enough to pay for what she needs."

"Yeah, but what if you _don't_? What happens then?"

Silence. Freya closed her eyes, leaning back against the wall. Danielle was eighteen. She'd been taking care of their mother ever since she'd fallen ill. But they all knew she was getting worse. There was medicine that could save her, but not here. Not in District Four. And they didn't have the money to afford medicine from the Capitol. No one did.

No one except a Victor.

But Danielle … would she really have a chance in the Games? She was always taking care of their mother; she certainly knew how to keep someone _alive_. But did she have what it took to kill?

Did any of them?

Freya shook her head. Her brothers were too old. Danielle was too kind. That left her. She was pretty good with a spear, and she'd gutted plenty of fish. How much different could it really be to use a knife on a person? She was stronger than her sister. She was the better choice. The obvious choice. Danielle was probably thinking the same thing, even though she would never ask it of her. So she would just have to make the choice herself.

* * *

 **Clemence Aldrin, 14  
** **District Six**

"Any idea what his name was?" Clemence asked as she and her father scrubbed the body. They'd found the boy on their front doorstep – probably left there by someone who knew they would take care of it. Any valuables he might have had were gone, along with most of his clothes. From the look of him, he wasn't much older than she was.

Her father shook his head. "Street kid, from the look of him. Had a few run-ins with the Peacekeepers, going by the scars on his back. Probably starved to death. Let's call him Skinny."

Skinny it was, then. "Probably no family coming for him, then," Clemence reasoned. "Nothing to arrange." Funerals in District Six weren't usually fancy affairs, anyway. But it was always nice when the family could say a few words before the dead were laid to rest.

"Nothing but organs," her father agreed. "Pass me a scalpel."

Clemence did as she was told. It wasn't pretty work, but the research labs in District Three paid good money for any organs they received intact, and her father was one of the few who knew what he was doing and had the resources to keep the organs frozen long enough to last the trip. Usually, the family refused, but Skinny had no one around to object.

Clemence ran her hand through the boy's hair. She hoped it hadn't hurt. Maybe he'd just fallen asleep and never woken up. His face almost looked peaceful. "They'll put your organs to good use, Skinny," she promised as her father began his work.

She hoped that was true. None of them were really sure what the labs used the body parts for. But whatever it was, it had to be more useful than sticking a perfectly good body in the ground or burning it up in a kiln. Anything was better than that.


	5. Bertie

**Interlude II**

* * *

 **Bertie Plymouth, 45  
** **District Six  
** **Victor of the 2nd Hunger Games**

They had never meant for him to survive. That much had been obvious when he'd been reaped. A scrawny, starving, fifteen-year-old kid who was living on the streets with his uncle Alvis, who had been left crippled during the rebellion. A kid who had served as a message-runner for the rebels didn't stand a chance in the Games.

That was what everyone thought, and his meager training score seemed to confirm it. He was as good as dead as soon as he stepped off his podium; that was what everyone said.

But he survived the bloodbath. He ran. He hid. There were plenty of places to hide in the abandoned construction site. Plenty of good places for an ambush. By the end of the first day, he made his first kill – a boy from District Seven who happened to wander by at the wrong time with a backpack full of supplies.

Now he was armed. Well-supplied. Still, it was only a matter of time before he ran across someone stronger. Someone more capable. No one gave him a second thought until he killed his third tribute. But still, the tributes from Four were still alive, and _they_ were the ones to beat.

At least, they were until the lightning struck.

The lightning started a fire. There was smoke everywhere. But he was used to smoke. District Six was _full_ of smoke. He stayed low to the ground. He caught them off guard.

He won.

The Capitol hadn't been happy, but there was nothing they could do. He was alive. He had survived. And he meant to make the most of it.

Bertie leaned back in his chair – the only chair onstage. Trying not to look anxious. Trying not to seem concerned. But they all knew. His daughter Tamika was eighteen this year. Her _last_ year. His son Tyree was fifteen – the same age he had been when he'd been reaped.

 _Just a few more years._

 _Just breathe._

He would get through this. They would _all_ get through this. He'd already survived the impossible. He'd already beaten the odds. He just had to get lucky a few more times. Just a few more years.


	6. Merric, Owen, Martha, and Shasta

**Tribute Intros Part III  
** **Merric, Owen, Martha, and Shasta**

* * *

 **Merric Belgrave, 18  
** **District Four**

It had never been about luck. Merric couldn't help a smile as he and his sister Darya pulled in another load of fish. Tomorrow was the reaping, when they would inevitably hear the same words they heard every year. "May the odds be ever in your favor." But it wasn't really about the odds. Nothing was.

Not even fishing. Maybe there was a _little_ luck involved, but it was mostly skill. Skill and a willingness to put in the hard work it took to go out on the water day after day, week after week. Eventually, hard work paid off. Maybe not immediately. Maybe not today. But eventually.

And his hard work was about to pay off. For years, he'd been training for the Games. Ever since the reaping five years ago, when the escort had chosen a scrawny little boy from his class, and no one had stepped in to take his spot. Career training was still fairly new in District Four, and there had been on one that year who thought they were ready to take his place.

That wouldn't happen this year. This year, no one in District Four would be going into the Games simply due to the luck of the draw. Well, at least not on the boys' side. He couldn't say for sure about the girls, but there would probably be someone. Every year, more and more teenagers were training. Every year, the Games were becoming less about luck and more about skill. And that was the way it should be.

* * *

 **Owen Askoya, 14  
** **District Eight**

"At least we get the day off from school," Lars offered cheerfully as he and Owen neared the square. "After the reaping, we can do whatever we want. As long as neither of us is picked, I mean. And that probably won't happen. It's usually older kids. And maybe someone will even volunteer. Sure, it doesn't happen all that often _here_ , but it happens."

Owen rolled his eyes as Lars continued to ramble. Just because _one_ volunteer from District Eight had come home, everyone was going on and on about how maybe District Eight would become a Career district like One, Two, and Four. Wishful thinking, obviously, but that didn't stop people from talking.

 _Nothing_ seemed to stop people from talking.

His friend was right about the odds, of course. Neither of them had taken tesserae, so he was as safe as a fourteen-year-old could hope to be. His name was only in the reaping bowl three times. Younger tributes had been chosen, though – and none of them had survived. If either of them was reaped, it was practically a death sentence.

But it wouldn't do any good to dwell on it. Fretting about the reaping and getting all emotional wouldn't change the odds one way or another. Either he would be picked, or he would be safe for another year. That was all there was to it. Simple. Straightforward. So why did people always make such a big deal out of it?

* * *

 **Martha Cabott, 15  
** **District Nine**

She wasn't stupid enough to try anything on reaping day. Usually, the crowded district square was the best place to spot a mark. The best place to slip something quietly out of someone's pocket and then get away unnoticed. Usually, no one noticed. She always chose her targets carefully. People who weren't paying attention. People who were distracted by noisy little children at their sides. People who were in too much of a hurry to notice.

Usually, it was easy. She'd gotten good at it. But once, she hadn't been careful enough. It had almost been two years since then. Two years since the Peacekeepers had caught her stealing from one of the bakers. They'd made an example of her, not caring about the fact that she'd only been thirteen at the time. She still had scars from their whips.

But she had learned her lesson. Not the one _they'd_ meant to teach her, of course. She'd learned to be more careful about who she stole from, and when she did it. Which was why she wasn't going to risk it today. Not when the district square was crawling with Peacekeepers, all of them on alert. Maybe _after_ the reaping, when they were busy taking the tributes to the train. Maybe then.

Maybe. She would still have to be careful. That was the one thing they _had_ taught her – not to be tempted by impulses. She'd stolen from the baker on a whim; now she was more selective. They'd made her a _better_ thief, and someday, they would be sorry they had.

* * *

 **Shasta Evans, 17  
** **District Nine**

His back ached as he and his mother made their way towards the square. It pretty much always hurt these days, but today was even worse than normal. A sharp, shooting pain was arcing its way up his spine, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Nothing but try to hide his grimace as his mother looked up, concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he insisted. She didn't need anything more to worry about. Trying to keep the family going and food on the table was a full-time job for both of them.

"I told you you shouldn't have gone in to work today," she scolded gently. "You were supposed to have the day off. It's reaping day."

"Yeah, thanks, I'd forgotten that," Shasta joked. But they'd needed the money, even if it was only a little. And his supervisors tended to forget that he was only seventeen. He worked as hard as any of the adults. Maybe more. "I'll be fine, Ma," he assured her. "As soon as the reaping's over, we'll go home, and I can take the rest of the day off."

"But what if…?" She trailed off. She didn't want to say it. Neither of them wanted to say it. What if he was picked? What if he was one of this year's tributes?

Shasta shrugged it off. "Then my back will be the least of my worries," he reasoned as they neared the square. That was certainly true, if not particularly comforting. He just wished there was something better he could say. Something that would actually _help._ But the best thing he could do now was make it through the reaping. Then he could worry about what to do next.

* * *

 **Whee! We're past the halfway point as far as collecting tributes. (I've got 13 so far.) In celebration, the tribute page on the website is now up. If you haven't yet, check out the website at serendipityhg . weebly . com**


	7. Confidence, Izzy, Isabella, and Dexter

**Tribute Intros Part IV  
** **Confidence, Izzy, Isabella, and Dexter**

* * *

 **Confidence Best, 16  
** **District One**

"I can't believe it!" his mother gushed as soon as he told her the news. "I knew they'd pick you, of course, but I didn't think it would be for another year or two. They usually choose seventeen or eighteen year olds, after all. I don't think District One has ever picked a _sixteen_ -year-old to volunteer."

"They haven't – not since the trainers cracked down on selecting who was going to volunteer," his father confirmed. "There hasn't been a sixteen-year-old Career since—"

"Since the 25th Games," Confidence rattled off immediately. "And boy were the other Careers _mad_ … but they couldn't do anything about it because that was the year the districts chose their own tributes, and the people voted for him. The other Careers kicked him out of the pack, though – but he still won."

"Oh, dear, you don't think they'll do that to _you_ , do you?" his mother asked, suddenly concerned.

Confidence shook his head. "I doubt it. I don't think they'd try that again – not since he won. Besides, they were just mad because they thought he'd cheated or bribed his way in. Everyone knows I was picked fair and square."

And he had been. He'd always been at the top of his class at the academy, but this year, he'd ended up leaps and bounds ahead of everyone a year older – and even _two_ years older. He was the best choice, and all the trainers had agreed. Now he just had to prove it.

* * *

 **Isabella "Izzy" Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

"Isabella, are you listening?" Mr. Spruce asked. Probably not for the first time.

Truth be told, she _wasn't_ listening. Izzy twirled the paper football she'd been folding, quickly glancing up at the board. "Five?" she guessed.

Her teacher let out an exasperated sigh. "No. Anyone else?"

Two kids' hands immediately shot up, but Izzy's attention was already back on the paper football in her hands. She waited until Mr. Spruce was looking the other way, then flicked it as hard as she could. It hit the board before clattering to the floor just behind Mr. Spruce, who didn't even turn. He was already absorbed with writing the next problem on the board. All around her, the other students were quickly jotting down notes before he could erase the previous problem, as if their lives depended on figuring out what _x_ stood for at the moment.

Who _cared_? It wasn't as if anyone in District Seven ended up making a living with this stuff anyway. Well, except people like Mr. Spruce, who _taught_ it. Why did she need to know how to solve for _x_ in order to chop wood, or carve furniture, or any of the other jobs available in the district. It wasn't as if _she_ wanted to spend the rest of her life teaching math.

The thought made her chuckle, which earned a few glares from the students around her. Izzy stared at the clock, waiting for the bell to ring. The sooner it rang, the sooner she could be out doing something she actually _liked_. Climbing trees. Snowboarding. Anything. _Anything_ would be better than this.

* * *

 **Isabella Thatcher, 18  
** **District Eight**

"Need a hand?" Sasha asked as Isabella started to gather her books, shifting her crutches under her arms a little.

Isabella nodded as Sasha picked up Isabella's books along with her own. "Thanks. I can't wait to get out of this cast."

"You know, when I said 'break a leg,' I didn't mean it quite this literally," Sasha scolded, giving Isabella's shoulder a punch.

Isabella rolled her eyes. "Thanks. I definitely haven't heard that one yet." In the two weeks since she'd broken her leg, every one of her friends had said something similar. But they'd also been willing to pitch in and help her get to and from her classes – and help her take care of George – so she couldn't really complain too much.

"See you at rehearsal tonight?" Sasha asked as they made their way through the halls.

Isabella nodded. "As long as you don't mind if George tags along…" Her brother was eleven now, which _should_ have been old enough to look after himself after school until their parents got home, but their parents insisted that she keep an eye on him.

Sasha shrugged. "Fine with me. As long as he doesn't make a mess like he did last time. We were cleaning glitter off the stage for _hours_."

"I'll keep a close eye on him," Isabella promised. George was a handful, but her friends never seemed to mind that he tagged along.

"I'll see you later, then," Sasha agreed, setting Isabella's books down on her desk for her next class. Isabella clumsily took her seat and let her crutches clatter to the floor as the other students did their best to move around her. Rehearsal couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

 **Dexter Guernsey, 13  
** **District Ten**

It was hard to imagine anything better than this. Dexter grinned up at his older brother Roland as the pair of them splashed more food into the pigs' trough. "Anything else you need help with?" he asked eagerly.

Roland shook his head. "No, I think we're good here – but Ma could probably use some help with dinner if—"

Before he had a chance to finish the sentence, Dexter was already headed for the house. Ma would probably have something for him to do. She always needed help with something, and was grateful when he offered. His older brothers always seemed to be working on something of their own – a fence that needed fixing, a pig or two that had broken out and needed to be caught. And he enjoyed helping them, too, but sometimes … well, sometimes it felt like he was more of a bother than a help.

Ma, on the other hand, was always happy to give him something to do. As soon as she saw him at the door, she handed him a big spoon and told him to stir the pot above the fire. Dexter immediately began stirring, circling the pot as he did so. "How was school?" Ma asked.

Dexter shrugged. "Fine." To be honest, he found school rather boring, but he didn't dare tell Ma that. She would be so disappointed. She had such high hopes that one of her sons would be the one to grow up and be something other than a pig farmer. He didn't have the heart to tell her that it probably wouldn't be him.

* * *

 **A couple quick things...**

 **\- Yes, you read that right. No, it's not a typo. There are two tributes named Isabella Thatcher. Yes, that was deliberate on the part of the submitter. Who knows? Maybe "Thatcher" is Panem's equivalent of "Smith" or "Jones." :)**

 **\- I** **'ve gotten a couple escort submissions, which is neat. If you'd like to send in an escort or two, feel free to do so using whatever form you'd like. Naturally, they won't get as much "screen time" as the tributes, but I'll try to make sure everyone gets a chance to shine. Like the tributes, it'll be first-come, first-served, and whatever escort spots I don't have by the time the tribute list is full, I'll fill in myself.**

 **\- Since someone asked (and I figured others might be curious), no, I'm not planning any sort of sponsor system. Sponsors, like everything else, will be decided at random. However, I've run a few practice simulations on the site I'm using, and it seems to be quite generous with sponsor gifts, so if your tribute lasts more than a day or two, chances are good that they'll get _something_. Not necessarily something _useful,_ but something.**

 **\- Only eight spots left! Keep those tributes coming.**


	8. Gerard

**Interlude III**

* * *

 **Gerard Shuck, 40  
** **District Nine  
** **Victor of the 6th Hunger Games**

The odds had never been in his favor. Gerard leaned back in his chair, watching the grandfather clock in the corner. Waiting until the last possible moment, like he usually did. He definitely didn't want to be _early_ for the reaping. No point in arriving any sooner than he absolutely needed to.

He didn't like the way they looked at him – like he was some sort of hero. He wasn't a hero. The hero had been his district partner, who had given her life so that he could survive. _She_ had been a hero. All he had done – all he had _ever_ done – was save his own skin. He had survived.

Against all the odds. When he was little, the doctors had told his parents that he wouldn't make it to the age of two. Then five. He had always been sickly, but the war had made it worse. He had barely survived, but he had made it. When he was twelve, the doctors – the ones that were left in the district – had told him that the sickness in his brain was getting worse. That he wouldn't make it another year.

He had made it another year. And another. He'd held on to hope, because there was a rumor. A rumor that the Capitol could cure people like him. No one in the districts could afford that sort of treatment, of course. No one.

No one except a Victor.

He had been desperate. Desperate enough to try anything. When he turned fourteen, he knew. He knew he wouldn't make it another year. He had to do something – _anything_ that would give him a chance.

So he had volunteered. Everyone had assumed he was suicidal. That he, the poor sick boy, had taken pity on the younger boy who had been reaped and decided that if someone was going to die, it might as well be someone who was dying anyway. The Capitol had eaten it up, so he'd played along. Played right into their hands.

But it was a lie. He had never intended to sacrifice himself. And he never would. He'd had the chance – more than once – during the Games, and he had chosen his own life. He chose his life over his district partner's. Over his allies. He had put himself first, and he had won. They cured him, and the whole district rejoiced at District Nine's first Victor. District Nine's _only_ Victor – the boy who had beaten the odds.

He was alive. He was a survivor. But he wasn't what they thought. He wasn't a hero. And he never would be.

* * *

 **Seven spots left! Since I want to keep this moving quickly, I'm lifting my restrictions on how many tributes people can submit. Submit away! Let's get these spots filled and get on with this silliness. :)**

 **Also, I'm mildly surprised by the fact that I haven't gotten a single outer-district volunteer. Maybe it's that people think it's a bit too cliche, but considering these Games are for silly fun anyway, go wild!**


	9. Ariel

**Interlude IV**

* * *

 **Ariel Forge, 35  
** **District Twelve  
** **Victor of the 14th Hunger Games**

All she could do was try to make their odds a little better. Ariel ushered a few of the smaller children out of the kitchen while the older ones finished clearing the dishes. "Nervous?" Kasidy asked.

Ariel nodded. "Always." There was no point in lying. Ever since the two of them had decided to turn their home in Victors' Village into a community home for the orphaned children in District Twelve, reaping day had been even more hectic and heartwrenching than it was before. Ariel's winnings as a Victor meant that none of the children there had to take tesserae, but that didn't help everyone. After all, _someone_ had to be picked.

It always had to be someone.

Eighteen years ago, it had been her. Most of these children – _their_ children – hadn't even been born when she'd won the Games, when she'd fought her way through the bug-infested swamp and killed her last competitor in order to make it home. Back to District Twelve. Back to Kasidy.

Kasidy gave her wife's hand a gentle squeeze. "We don't have to do this."

Ariel shook her head. "Go to the reaping? Yes, we do."

"You know that's not what I meant."

No. It wasn't. How many times had they had this conversation? It always ended the same way. Neither of them wanted the heartbreak of seeing one of these kids in the Games. But there wasn't anything they could do about that. Whoever's name was drawn from the bowl, that was who went. Period. There was nothing they could do about that.

So what was the alternative? Throw the kids back out on the streets, where they would have to take tesserae – and increase their odds of being chosen for the Games – just to survive? No. No, this was better. Not _good_ , but better than the alternative. And that would have to be good enough.

* * *

 **So District Twelve is my only district with no submissions. In case people are avoiding it because they already have a Victor and, canonically, Haymitch is the only other Victor from Twelve ... canon is overrated. Tributes from Twelve have exactly the same chance as everyone else, so submit away.**


	10. Emerson, Carlisle, Alexia, and Emilia

**Tribute Intros Part V  
** **Emerson, Carlisle, Alexia, and Emilia**

* * *

 **Emerson Watt, 13  
** **District Five**

"Emerson, _try_ to focus." Her mother's voice drew her attention away from the couple in the corner who were arguing over their cups of coffee. "Did you hear what I said?"

No. No, she hadn't heard a word. But she knew better than to admit that. "Of course."

Her mother shook her head. "That gentleman over there – he's been waiting for his order. Here." Her mother handed her a cup. "Don't spill."

Emerson nodded obediently and made her way over to the older gentleman. "Here you are, sir. Anything else?"

The older man shook his head. "That'll be all for now."

She set the cup of coffee down on the table beside him. "How are you today?"

"Not bad. Yourself?"

"Good. It's been a busy day. It's always busier when it gets colder. Well, unless it's _too_ cold. Then people don't want to go outside at all. But weather like this – it's just about right. A chill in the air to make people want something warm, but not cold enough to convince them to stay home and make it themselves. Not that most people would make themselves coffee, I guess. What do you make at home when you want something warm?"

The older man blinked. "I … I don't know, my dear. Why don't you run along?"

Emerson looked away. People were always telling her to run along. Go bother someone else. Mind her own business. But she was just trying to be friendly. She had just wanted to _talk_ to him. Where was the harm in that?

* * *

 **Carlisle Talbot, 18  
** **District Six**

Why couldn't people just leave him _alone_? Carlisle shook his head as the boy beside him kept chatting. Working in the factories for hours on end was bad enough without people trying to have a conversation at the same time. For starters, the machinery was so loud that he was only catching about one word out of every four or five. Just enough to know that the boy beside him was talking about his younger sister and how it would be her first reaping this year.

Carlisle nodded in a way he hoped looked sympathetic. But what was he supposed to say? This was his last reaping, but he still remembered his first year. There was nothing anyone could have said that would have made him any less nervous. He didn't have any younger siblings, but if he had, he couldn't imagine anything that would make him less afraid for their lives.

There was always a chance, of course – a chance that a tribute would come home alive. But that hadn't happened since the Second Games. Since Bertie had beaten the odds and made it back. There were rumors – rumors that the Capitol hadn't been happy to have a rebel as a Victor, and had been taking it out on District Six ever since. There were some who blamed Bertie for that – for bringing the Capitol's wrath down on the rest of them.

Carlisle shook his head. Bertie had just been trying to survive – just like anyone else would have. He'd gotten lucky, and it wasn't his fault if the Capitol was petty and vindictive.

He knew better than to say that, of course. He knew better than to speak his mind about the Capitol. Everyone did. But the truth was he admired what Bertie had done. He had shown the Capitol up, and there was something impressive about that. Something admirable. Something almost heroic.

Carlisle turned his attention back to his work. Heroes didn't exist – not here, not in Panem, and _certainly_ not in District Six. The rebels had wanted to be heroes, and look where it had gotten them. All the heroes were gone.

All the heroes were _dead_.

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

"Very good work, Alexia," Ms. Bantam crooned as she handed the class' essays back. "You clearly spent a lot of time on this one."

Alexia held her tongue, not wanting to upset her teacher. But the truth was, she _hadn't_ spent a lot of time on it. She'd barely finished it before midnight the night before, and had spent a good part of the morning proofreading it while her math teacher had been lecturing away. But as long as she kept her grades up, there was no harm done, right?

And she had always managed to keep her grades up. She couldn't imagine facing her parents with less than top marks. They'd always pushed her to do her best, and the look on their faces when she brought home a perfect score was worth the work she usually put in. She saw so little of them, it was always good to have something worthwhile to show them.

Not that she blamed them for being gone so much. They worked hard for what they had. They were one of the richest families in the district, and they had gotten there because of her parents' hard work. If that meant that they weren't around the house much … well, that was a small price to pay for the rewards. She didn't have to work in the fields like so many of her peers. And she'd never had to take tesserae.

That was certainly something to be grateful for, with reaping day coming up. Her name was only in the bowl the required six times for a seventeen-year-old. There were twelve-year-olds with larger, poorer families whose names were in the bowl more than that. She was as safe as she could be.

* * *

 **Emilia Rey Fumero, 14  
** **District Twelve**

Maybe someday they could make everything right again. Emilia shook their head as they made their way back home from school. It was the weekend now, which meant they were going to see their father, their brother Ben, and their sister Mica. It was the same every weekend; during the weekdays, they lived with their mother, their stepfather, and their three half-siblings, Teddy, Bel, and Ruffy. It had been like that as long as they could remember; their parents had separated when they were only two. Maybe it was a bit complicated, but it wasn't as if there was anything they could do about it.

Was there?

Emilia kicked a pebble as they passed through the square. In a few days, it would be reaping day. Most kids were afraid of the reaping, but to them there had always been something almost … almost _captivating_ about the whole affair. District Twelve only had one Victor, but she had done pretty well for herself. After returning from the Games, she'd married her sweetheart Kasidy, and the pair had opened their home to the district's orphans. She'd made a _life_ for herself. A _good_ life.

Emilia kicked the pebble a little farther. Try as they might, they could never really describe their own life as 'good.' At best, it was tolerable – but only because of their family. Because of their sister Mica, who dreamed of visiting other districts, of meeting new people and writing about her experiences. That was impossible, of course, but it didn't stop her from dreaming – dreaming of a life she would never have. A better life. A _good_ life.

Emilia clenched their fists as they headed home. Maybe there _was_ something they could do about it. Maybe. Just _maybe_.


	11. Mags

**Interlude V**

* * *

 **Mags Flanagan, 36  
** **District Four  
** **Victor of the 11th Hunger Games**

Mags wasn't always sure what to think of the growing Career system, but at least it made her job a little easier. For the past few years, she hadn't had to worry about tributes breaking down and crying at the reaping. Tributes who couldn't even seem to find their way to the stage on their own. Tributes who wept all the way through the train rides. Whatever else the Career system did, at least it produced tributes who _wanted_ to be in the Games. Tributes who were _prepared_ for it.

As prepared as they could be, at least. And certainly more prepared than she'd been. She'd gotten lucky. Lucky that her arena had plenty of places to hide. Lucky that a tribute with a backpack full of supplies had stumbled into her camp the first night. Lucky that he hadn't seen her.

For a while after her own Games, she'd felt guilty about that. Because along with the Career system came a growing attitude that a victory in the Games should be earned. That tributes shouldn't have to rely on luck in order to win. It had taken a while, but she had come to terms with the fact that she'd gotten lucky. Luck was a part of the Games.

Luck was _still_ a part of the Games.

Because even with the increase in training, even with the likelihood that One, Two, and Four would produce volunteers who were ready to play the Games … even then, they didn't always win. Last year's Victor had been from District Eleven, and the Victor the year before had come from Three. And even when a Career did win, only _one_ of them one. Sometimes it was the strongest or the most skilled, but sometimes, it was just the one who got luckier than the others. Lucky enough to come home alive, as she had. Lucky enough to beat the odds.


	12. Deimos, Cosima, Garth, and Troy

**Tribute Intros Part VI  
** **Deimos, Cosima, Garth, and Troy**

* * *

 **Deimos Martel, 18  
** **District Two**

They would be sorry when he won. Deimos gave the door to his bedroom one last kick for good measure. His mother would probably be worried about him, but he didn't care. She had been relieved when she'd heard the news that the trainers hadn't chosen him to volunteer. She'd only ever encouraged him to train as a backup plan, in case he was reaped and no one volunteered. Not that that was likely to happen in District Two, but she'd grown up in fear of being reaped, and hadn't wanted him to live the same way.

But a backup plan had quickly become an obsession. He had trained harder than _anyone_. This was his last year, and they still hadn't chosen him to volunteer. They'd chosen a pair of _seventeen-year-olds._ Trainees who still had a year left before they couldn't volunteer anymore.

Deimos shook his head as he flopped down on his bed. He wasn't about to let that stop him. He could volunteer anyway, after all. Defy the trainers' choice. It didn't happen very often – and the trainers didn't look kindly on anyone who defied the norm – but it had happened. Sure, the trainers would be upset. Maybe his district partner, too. But as long as he won…

As long as he won, there would be no real consequences. There was nothing they could do to a Victor. They hadn't been happy when Raiden had been voted into the Quarter Quell, after all, but now he was a Victor, just like any of the others. And just like he would be, soon enough.

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

Why couldn't her parents understand that she wasn't a little girl anymore? Cosima shook her head as she headed straight home from school. Always straight home. No fun, no friends, no parties. Her parents were worried that she would turn out like them – fooling around at fifteen and ending up with a daughter.

Well, she'd already made it past _that_ milestone. But they still wouldn't let her out of their sights for more than a few minutes if she wasn't at school. They'd even been known to drop in at school from time to time, bringing her a little something extra for lunch, making sure she was doing her work. Embarrassing her in front of the friends she _did_ have.

She was sick of it.

Cosima's gaze strayed to the road that led to Victors' Village. Only two years ago, District Three had brought home a Victor of their own. She'd moved into her house in Victors' Village alone, leaving her parents behind. Leaving _everything_ behind. Victors were free to live their own lives – freer than anyone else in the districts.

Cosima clenched her fists. She'd been batting around the idea for years. It was just what her parents had been trying to avoid – the chance for her to do something impulsive and reckless. But if _they_ hadn't been so protective, so _smothering_ , she wouldn't have to do this. But they'd left her no choice. It was time to take her life into her own hands.

* * *

 **Garth Kain, 15  
** **District Eleven**

There was nothing Garth liked more than helping people get back on their feet, helping them take their life into their own hands – quite literally. Garth smiled as Des, one of his family's patients, took a few more hesitant steps forward. "That's it, Des," Garth coaxed. "Just a few more steps."

The young man snorted. "That's what you said after the last few."

"You can do this."

One step. Then another. Des was leaning heavily on his cane, but he could make it a few more steps. "One more," Garth prompted.

Des took one more step before collapsing into a nearby chair. "Thanks, kid."

"You're getting better. That was farther than you've walked before."

Des shook his head. "Used to walk halfway across District Eleven every day without so much as a blister. Now I can barely make it across a room."

Garth laid a hand on Des' shoulder. "You'll get there. It just takes time. Time and effort – that's all."

"Sure."

"You want me to help you up?"

Des shook his head. "No. No, I've got it." Slowly, he hoisted himself to his feet and back into his wheelchair. "Same time tomorrow, kid?"

Garth nodded. "Wouldn't miss it."

Des finally smiled a little. "Why do you do this? I mean, I know your big brother runs the place, but there's plenty of other after-school jobs for a smart young kid like you."

Garth shrugged. "I like to help."

* * *

 **Troy Arrowhead, 15  
** **District Twelve**

The reaping couldn't be over soon enough. Troy glanced up at his sister Arabella and her husband as they all made their way towards the square. She was already too old for the reaping, but practically everyone was required to attend. Their parents walked a little behind them, as if slowing down would keep the reaping from happening.

It wouldn't, of course. Nothing would keep the reaping from happening. So they might as well get it over with as quickly as they could. His name was only in the bowl four times, after all; he'd never had to take tesserae to help the family out. They were about as well-off as anyone could expect to be in District Twelve. Maybe that didn't say much, but he wasn't about to complain. Not with the number of Seam kids whose names were in the bowl dozens of times. What were four slips compared to that?

Not much. But there was still a chance, and they all knew it. Twelve-year-olds whose names were only in once had been chosen before. It all came down to luck. It all came down to the odds.

He just hoped the odds were in his favor – just for a few more years. He hated the thought of _anyone_ going into the Games, but it had to be someone. It was always someone. All he could do was hope that it wouldn't be him.


	13. Reapings - Luck of the Draw

**Reapings  
** **Luck of the Draw**

* * *

 **Jensen Spaulder, 74  
** **District One Escort**

The name he pulled out of the reaping bowl hadn't really mattered for years, but that didn't bother Jensen. He smiled as District One's Victors took the stage, joining Artemis, who was already waiting for them. The first Victor, the mother of the Career system in District One. Looking at her, it wasn't hard to imagine her mowing down any tribute who stood in the way of her victory. Now, though, it wasn't up to her. It was up to whoever had been chosen to volunteer.

District One had been the first district to figure it out – that the Games didn't have to be a punishment. That they could be an opportunity. It had been years since a reaped tribute from One had actually been sent into the Games. So as he dipped his hand into the bowl, he didn't really bother swirling the papers around at all, didn't bother making a show out of it like some of the other districts' escorts might do. Whoever's name he drew, after all, would quickly be replaced with a volunteer.

Sure enough, no sooner had he drawn the first slip of paper and read the name – Destiny Aiken – than a voice called out, "I volunteer!" and a girl from the seventeen-year-old section hurried up to the stage. She was lean and fit, with pale skin, long white-blonde hair, and doe-brown eyes.

Jensen nodded expectantly. "And what's your name, my dear?"

"Thalia Gold," the girl answered simply. No muss. No fuss. She simply stood there, waiting for him to draw the next time. Almost a pointless exercise, really, but it was part of his job…

"Decker Cannari," he called, but the name was quickly followed by another volunteer, this time from the sixteen-year-old section. He sprinted to the stage with a grin on his face. His pale skin, blonde hair, and brown eyes matched the girl's, but they didn't seem to be related. In fact, the girl rolled her eyes as the boy joined them onstage.

"I'm Confidence Best!" he announced, not even winded as he grabbed the microphone from Jensen. "Let's hear it for your next Victor!"

The crowd cheered, but Thalia snorted. "Sure. A _real_ Victor doesn't have to announce it, genius."

Confidence shrugged. "No harm in letting them know who they should be rooting for."

Thalia smirked. "You're on."

Jensen couldn't help a chuckle. "All right, you two. Save it for the arena." He snatched the microphone back from Confidence. "Ladies and gentlemen, your tributes from District One! Thalia Gold and Confidence Best. May the odds be ever in your favor!"

The entire crowd echoed the slogan as the cameras turned off. Jensen flashed Artemis a smile as the tributes were led off to the Justice Building. "Quite a pair we've got this year."

* * *

 **Charity Goodrich, 42  
** **District Two Escort**

She couldn't wait to see who District Two had chosen this year. Since Raiden's victory during the Quarter Quell, training in Two had really picked up. They had six Victors now, three of them in the last seven years. Raiden leaned back casually in his chair as Charity joined the Victors onstage. He was getting used to bringing home Victors; he'd personally brought home two since his own victory. District Two was getting used to winning.

She wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

Charity turned a smile towards the cameras as she approached the first reaping bowl. It was good, certainly, that so many victories were going to a district that was loyal to the Capitol. District Two had been the first to abandon the rebellion, after all. The first to surrender and do as the Capitol wished. As a reward, the Capitol had aided in their efforts to start training tributes after their victory during the Third Games. They'd provided weapons and the funds to build District Two's first training academy.

District One had soon built a facility of their own; until that point, Artemis had been training tributes out of her own house in Victors' Village. District Four had been next, but their Career system had only taken off in the last few years, since their most recent Victor had been crowned during the 28th Games.

So rewarding the districts for their loyalty – that was certainly a good thing. But it had led to some of the Career tributes becoming a bit overconfident. They went into the Games _expecting_ to win, expecting that their years of hard work and preparation could lead to nothing else. And sometimes that backfired.

Still, as she reached her hand into the bowl, there was a certain comfort to knowing that the name she drew wouldn't be the tribute who went into the Games. That if she happened to pick a twelve or thirteen year old, no little children would be torn away from their parents and sent into an arena they were completely unprepared for. That sort of thing happened in other districts – far too often. But not here. Not in the ten years she'd been escorting.

"Elina Shard!" she announced, but a volunteer immediately called out, and a girl emerged from the seventeen-year-old section. She was about average height, lean and muscular, with a light tan and bright blue eyes. Her long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, bouncing a little as she strode confidently towards the stage.

After so many volunteers, Charity didn't even pretend to be surprised. "And who do we have here?"

"Decima Clear," the girl announced, her voice calm and collected.

"Congratulations, Decima," Charity beamed. If the trainers had chosen a seventeen-year-old to volunteer, she must have been good. Usually they went with an eighteen-year-old. But no one else stepped forward to challenge the trainers' choice. Charity reached into the second reaping bowl.

But before she could draw out a name, a voice called out, "I volunteer!" and a boy raced forward from the eighteen-year-old section. At the same time, a voice from the seventeen-year-old section cried out that the trainers had picked him, and the two boys rushed up to the stage.

Charity turned to Raiden, who shrugged. Challenging the trainer's choice was rare, but certainly not unheard of. After he'd been voted into the 25th Games despite the trainers' instructions that no one but their chosen volunteers was allowed to campaign, rules had been established. In the case of more than one volunteer, it fell to the mentor to select the tribute – using any method they wished. This year, that duty fell to Raiden. Raiden leaned forward a little. "All right, you two. What's the scoop?"

"They chose me to volunteer," the seventeen-year-old insisted. "My name's Jackson Apte, and I'm ready for the Games." He certainly looked it. The younger boy was tall and muscular, but that didn't necessarily mean…

"And you?" Raiden asked, turning to the older boy.

"Sure, he's probably ready," the older boy admitted. "But so am I. And it's my last year. Let him try next year, if he wants it so badly. This is my last chance." He certainly seemed like just as good a choice. He wasn't as bulky, but was certainly muscular, his skin tanned from training outdoors. His dark hair was a bit wilder, and there was a hungry look in his dark eyes. "Let me do this."

Raiden nodded a little and pulled a coin from his pocket. He turned to the older boy. "Heads." Then, to the younger. "Tails. Fair?"

The older boy opened his mouth as if to object, but apparently thought better of it. There was no telling who Raiden might choose if he didn't agree to his selection method. "Fair," both boys agreed.

Raiden flipped the coin high into the air, catching it in the palm of his hand. "Heads it is. What's your name, son?"

"Deimos Martel," the boy answered as Jackson made his way back to the other seventeen-year-olds.

Raiden pressed the coin into Deimos' hand. "Well, then, Deimos … Welcome to the Hunger Games."

* * *

 **Chip Brizzy, 28  
** **District Three Escort**

He still wasn't used to the smell. Maybe it wasn't as bad as District Six, where he'd spent his first year as an escort, but District Three definitely had its own distinct smell. And it wasn't a good one. Chip had to fight to keep from holding his nose as he made his way through the square. That would be considered rude. And one didn't get to be an escort by being _rude_ to the people he was supposed to be representing.

There had been a time when escorts could get away with being a bit ruder. Immediately after the rebellion, there hadn't been much of an interest in positions that would be doing anything to _help_ the districts, particularly the more rebellious ones. So the Capitol had needed to make do with whatever escorts and mentors they could find. But as more and more Victors emerged, the need for mentors from the Capitol dwindled, and escorting for districts that had won the Games became a more and more prestigious job. The more Victors a district had, the harder it was to get placed as an escort there.

Which was why most escorts started off in District Six. They had a Victor, yes, but only one. District Three had _two_ , which put him a little bit higher up in the pecking order. Three wasn't a Career district, certainly, but it was better than Six. Better than Nine and Twelve, which also only had one Victor. Until two years ago, he'd thought maybe it was some sort of curse having to do with multiples of three. But then District Three had won their second victory and blown a hole in his theory.

Their most recent Victor, Lois, wrung her hands as he joined her onstage. Their only other Victor, Fiona, stared off into the distance beyond the crowd, leaving Chip with no doubt that mentoring would fall to Lois again this year. She'd practically mentored herself two years ago, and Fiona didn't show any signs of being more interested this year.

"Ready?" he asked as gently as he could.

She simply shook her head. "Just get it over with."

Fair enough. Chip headed for the first reaping bowl and reached in. "For our female tribute this year, we have … Atlanta Galeotti!"

"I volunteer!" called a voice, almost immediately. Startled, Chip scanned the crowd, looking for the source of the voice. A volunteer in District _Three_? He hadn't been expecting that, but he certainly wasn't going to object.

The girl who emerged from the eighteen-year-old section was tall and thin, with light skin and shoulder-length choppy brown hair. She had brown eyes, freckles, and black glasses. "Wait!" called a voice from the adult section. "Wait! What do you think you're doing?"

But the girl ignored the voice, heading straight for the stage and making her way up the stairs without so much as a glance back at the young couple who could only be her parents. "My, my, my, this is exciting," Chip gushed. "What's your name?"

"Cosima Byte," the girl answered.

"And do you know her?"

"Who?"

"Atlanta."

Cosima shook her head. "Never met her. Just her lucky year, I guess."

"I guess so," Chip agreed with a smile. "Let's see who are lucky young man is." He reached into the second bowl and drew a slip of paper. "Stanley Newton!"

This time, no one called out to volunteer. The eighteen-year-old section parted slowly around a boy whose face was quickly turning red. He was a little shorter than the girl and thin, with olive skin, medium-length dark brown hair, and dark brown eyes. For a moment, he waited, as if hoping that someone would volunteer for him, too. When no one did, he took a step towards the stage. Then another. Soon, he was storming up the steps, his face growing redder as he scowled out at the crowd. "Great," he mumbled under his breath as Cosima held out her hand. "Just great."

* * *

 **Undyne Spears, 34  
** **District Four Escort**

"This is great!" Undyne exclaimed, shaking their spear excitedly as Victor after Victor joined them onstage. Four Victors so far. Mags, who had won the Eleventh Games. Moira and Alayah Rivers, twins who had won back-to-back years during the 22nd and 23rd Games. That had been their fifth and sixth years of mentoring, but they still remembered it like it was yesterday. And their most recent Victor, Bastian Brooke, who had won four years ago.

It seemed like yesterday. Every year, it was as if no time at all had passed since the previous Games. The feeling of excitement, the tension in the air during the reaping, the thrill of watching tributes volunteer – it all came back in a wave. "So!" Undyne called as the stage filled up with Victors. "Who's our lucky mentor this year?"

They didn't really have to ask. It was probably Mags. It was _usually_ Mags. Moira had mentored for her sister during the 23rd Games, but, other than that, no one else had really shown an interest in mentoring. Maybe Bastian would be ready to take a turn someday, but for now, he seemed perfectly content to let Mags do the work.

Sure enough, Mags raised her hand. Undyne immediately gave her a high five. "Perfect! Another lucky year for District Four's very first Victor!"

Mags blushed a little as Undyne turned their attention the the reaping bowls, their armor clinking and clattering as they crossed the stage. "Let's hear it, District Four! Are you ready for this year's reaping?"

The crowd cheered. _Finally_. It had taken them a few years to get used to the idea of cheering at the reapings. But the fact that Career training had finally taken hold in Four was helping. Fewer of their youngsters were terrified of being reaped, because volunteering was becoming more and more consistent. The reaping was no longer something to be afraid of, but something to be excited about.

 _That_ was what they'd wanted, when they'd asked to be assigned to District Four. One and Two were a bit more prestigious, perhaps, but they'd already had firmly established Career systems by the time Undyne had begun mentoring. That wasn't what they'd wanted. They'd wanted to be part of a Career system as it was forming. And they hadn't been disappointed.

Undyne grinned as they reached a scaly blue hand into the first reaping bowl. They'd patterned their skin with blue scales to go with their green eyes immediately after accepting the assignment. "Brooke Merryweather! Is there a Brooke Merryweather out there?"

The fifteen-year-old section had barely stirred before a girl in the seventeen-year-old section raised her hand. "I volunteer!" She was about average height, lean and fit, with olive skin, waist length wavy dark brown hair, and brown eyes. As she passed the eighteen-year-old section, a girl took her arm and whispered something. The younger girl shook her head and continued on up towards the stage.

"Brilliant!" Undyne screamed into the microphone. "Come on up! Always happy to have a volunteer! What's your name?"

The girl waited until she was onstage before answering. "Freya Clearwater."

"Glad you could join us, Freya," Undyne grinned, although Freya didn't look nearly as excited as they were. "Now, let's see who will be joining you." They reached into the second bowl and drew out a slip of paper. "Damarion Billey!"

The fourteen-year-old section began to stir, but a boy stepped out of the eighteen-year-old section. "I volunteer!" he called, making his way to the stage. He was lean and muscular, with wild, curly brown hair, pale skin, and beautiful golden eyes under his thick eyebrows.

"Fantastic!" Undyne exclaimed. "And what's your name, young fellow?"

"Merric Belgrave. But please don't call me fellow."

"Certainly. Are you—"

"Agender. He and him are fine, just not—"

"Not 'fellow.' Got it. Delighted to have you aboard, Merric." Undyne held out their hand for a high five, which Merric returned gladly before shaking hands with Freya. "District Four, give it up for Freya and Merric!"

The crowd cheered long after the cameras clicked off and the two tributes were led away. Undyne held out a hand to Mags. "Shall we?" Mags took their hand, and together they headed for the train.

* * *

 **Minerva "Mini" Masters, 37  
** **District Five Escort**

Melvin came to meet her at the train, immediately sweeping her off her feet. "It's so good to see you." He held her close for a moment before setting her down again. "It's been _forever_."

Mini reached up and took his hand in hers. "It's been three weeks." Three weeks since she'd snuck aboard a train bound for District Five, huddled in a tiny compartment for hours just so that she could see him for a few hours before the train had to go back. They weren't fooling anyone, of course, but the Capitol would never allow them to openly acknowledge their relationship. As long as they made some effort to keep it secret, however, they'd been allowed to do as they pleased.

"It _feels_ like forever," Melvin corrected as the pair of them headed for the square, Melvin walking a little slower than usual to compensate for her shorter strides. Her frizzy red hair added a few inches to her height, but she still barely reached the top of his hips. She'd grown up hearing horror stories about how some of the district treated people like her – people who were so visibly _different._ People who would never be able to pull their own weight in a society based on manual labor.

But in the Capitol … in the Capitol, things were different. Her stubby limbs, large forehead, and dwarfish features were no more than another eccentricity, like the pale purple contacts she wore. People in the Capitol were accepting of – no, _delighted_ by – who she was.

To District Five, however, she was simply another Capitol oddity. Except to Melvin. His Games had been her first year as an escort; she had only been two years older than him. They'd hit it off during the train ride to the Capitol, and she'd waited with bated breath as he'd survived day after day in the arena. His first and only kill had been the girl from Six in the finale. He had survived. He had made it through the Games.

He had come back to her.

They took the stage together, hand in hand. District Five's only other Victor, Penny Kelvin, snorted a little when she saw them, but she said nothing. She knew better. Maybe Mini wasn't the most intimidating person on the stage, but she was a _Capitolite._ Even Penny knew better than to jeopardize their district's chances by saying anything against the Capitol.

After only a short introduction, Mini headed for the reaping bowls, which had been placed on a much shorter table to accommodate her height. She reached into the first bowl, her stubby fingers fumbling with the paper for a moment before it slid open. "Emerson Watt!"

For a moment, nothing happened. Mini's eyes scanned the crowd for any hint of movement. Finally, the thirteen-year-old section parted around a small girl with pale skin and long, dark brown hair. Her face was dotted with freckles, and her brown eyes grew wide as she realized what was happening. Soon, the Peacekeepers were moving towards her, but the girl still didn't move. At least she didn't struggle, though, as one of the Peacekeepers took her arm and led her to the stage. Her eyes kept darting back and forth, as if looking for somewhere to run. Somewhere to hide. But at least she knew better than to try anything.

Mini gave the girl a smile as the Peacekeepers let her go. The girl didn't smile back, but at least she wasn't trying to fight. Mini reached into the second bowl and chose another slip of paper. "Wade Larthey!"

There was no pause this time – just an immediate burst of profanity from the twelve-year-old section. Mini's face flushed with embarrassment for him; clearly, the boy had just blurted out the first word that had come to his mind. The crowd parted quickly, and the boy took a few hesitant steps forward. He was about the same height as the girl and a little chubby, with olive skin, black hair, and dark brown eyes.

After a few more steps, however, the boy froze in his spot, and the Peacekeepers moved in again, leading him the rest of the way. Soon, he was standing onstage beside his new district partner, who hesitated only a moment before holding out her hand. The boy shook it, till trembling where he stood. Mini glanced up at Melvin, who said nothing. They would just have to do their best.

* * *

 **Ananias Griffith, 23  
** **District Six Escort**

He would just have to do his best. Ananias pulled his scarf a little tighter as he neared the district square. The smoke in the air was even thicker than he'd imagined. If this was what people in District Six breathed every day, it was no wonder only one of their tributes had made it out of the Games alive. It was a surprise they even _had_ a Victor at all, coming from these conditions.

Of course, the Victor they did have was from a different time. Before the Careers. Before the Games had become longer, harsher, with more mutts and dangers from the arena itself. Oh, he had won, of course – fair and square. But the Games were different now, and tributes from Six usually died pretty early on.

That was one of the reasons why District Six always seemed to be going through escorts like cotton candy. The other reason was Bertie himself, who wasn't too popular in the Capitol. Ananias shook the thought from his head as he took the stage, flashing the older man a smile. After all, if it weren't for the turnover rate in District Six, he probably wouldn't have gotten the job. He could be grateful for that much, at least.

After a short speech, he stepped towards the first reaping bowl and reached in. His very first tribute. He hoped he picked a good one…

"Clemence Aldrin!" Ananias read the name as loudly and clearly a he could. He didn't want to do anything that might mess up the reaping. Slowly, the fourteen-year-old section parted around a short, rail-thin girl. She had dark skin, curly black hair, and dark brown eyes. But what caught his attention was the fact that she was giggling.

Nervous giggles, certainly – but it still stood out as she took a few hesitant steps forward, fidgeting with her hair as she made her way towards the stage. She was shaking like a leaf, but she managed not to cry as she took her spot beside him. Ananias gave her a reassuring pat on the back. "Hello there."

"Hello," the girl answered, her voice little more than a whisper as she tried her best to hold back her giggles.

That was probably about as good a response as he was going to get. Ananias turned his attention to the second bowl and drew a name. "Tyree Plymouth."

Plymouth. Ananias took a moment to place the name, but when he did, he immediately turned towards Bertie, who was frozen in his seat as his son made his way up from the fifteen-year-old section. Bertie stood up and, for a moment, Ananias thought the old rebel might try to fight his way through the Peacekeepers and let his son escape.

But he knew better. Bertie threw his arms around his son, unable to hold back his tears. "It'll be all right," he whispered. "It'll be okay. I'll bring you home. I'll—"

"Wait!" called a voice from the crowd. "Wait." A boy hurried towards the stage from the eighteen-year-old section. He was about average height and stocky, with dark skin, short black hair, and dark brown eyes. Bertie and Tyree looked up, surprised and hopeful, as the boy took the stage. "I volunteer. I … I'll take his place."

For a moment, neither Bertie nor Tyree said anything, as if they were worried that if they did, the boy might change his mind. Once it was clear his decision had been made, however, Bertie threw his arms around the older boy, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Thank you. Thank you."

The boy nodded, swallowing hard against the lump that was forming in his throat. Ananias clapped a hand on his shoulder. "What's your name?"

"Carlisle Talbot."

"Thank you, Carlisle," Bertie repeated.

Carlisle nodded a little. "I'll probably regret this later."

"Probably," Bertie agreed as Tyree headed back to his place with the other fifteen-year-olds. "But thank you."

* * *

 **Isadora Boletto, 31  
** **District Seven Escort**

Isadora was grinning as she made her way to the stage. After five years as an escort – a year here, a year there – she'd finally made it to District Seven! Sure, it wasn't a Career district, but they had _three_ Victors – the most of any non-Career district. That was certainly something to be excited about.

Two of those Victors, of course, had won before Career training had really taken off. Sylvia had won the 7th Games, Marius the 13th. Their most recent Victor, Dolores, had won the 19th Games. But that didn't bother Isadora. All that really meant was that District Seven was due for another Victor soon. Maybe even this year. Everyone knew having a new escort was good luck for a district.

Isadora beamed out at the crowd as she finished her speech, then dipped her hand into the first reaping bowl. "Let's have a warm round of applause for Isabella Thatcher!"

There was no applause. Just a flurry of movement in the twelve-year-old section as a little girl bolted for the edge of the crowd. She was small and pale, with long, curly blonde hair that was bouncing up and down as she ran. But the Peacekeepers were waiting for her at the edge of the crowd. One of them grabbed her by the arm, dragging her towards the stage. She struggled for only a moment before realizing it was pointless. Once the Peacekeeper let her go, she made it up the steps to the stage on her own, her brown eyes darting from Isadora to the Victors and then back to the crowd, mumbling something quietly under her breath.

"What was that, dear?" Isadora asked sweetly.

The girl looked up. "I said don't count me out just because … just because I'm twelve."

Isadora ruffled the girl's hair. "I wouldn't dream of it, darling." Sure, the youngest Victor so far was fourteen, but that didn't mean the girl was done for. There was a first time for everything, after all. Still, she hoped the boy would be a little bit older…

"Ichabod Garjan!" Isadora called, and her hopes were immediately dashed. It was the thirteen-year-old section that parted, revealing a boy little taller than the girl. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring. But then something caught his eye. A hint of movement a few section ahead of him, where the eighteen-year-olds were standing. Was someone going to volunteer?

Maybe the younger boy was thinking the same thing, because he immediately raced towards the stage, a grin on his face, waving at the crowd. Trying to look like he wanted to be there. But even the sprint to the stage had clearly tired him. He was gasping for breath as he held out his hand to his district partner. "Don't count me out either," he gasped.

Isabella shook his hand firmly. "Deal."

* * *

 **Lucian "Lucky" Lane, 36  
** **District Eight Escort**

Twelve years ago, everyone had had such high hopes for District Eight. After his sister Warp had won the 17th Games, eighteen-year-old Woof had volunteered for the 20th Games, and brought home District Eight's second victory in only four years. Everyone had been talking about how District Eight was the next great thing, how the Camlet siblings might even start training Careers like some of the other districts.

Lucky had jumped right on the District Eight train, volunteering to be their escort after the previous one had retired. He had been thrilled. He had thought it was his lucky break, so to speak.

Then everything had fallen apart. Woof and Warp's offer to start training students had fallen on deaf ears. No one in District Eight was interested in risking their life in the Games – not even with the promise of a Victor's reward. So Woof and Warp had been left to themselves in their house in Victors' Village, and now Lucky was stuck. No one else wanted to take over mentoring for District Eight, for a promising district that didn't seem at all interested in pursuing their potential.

Lucky shrugged at the siblings as he joined them onstage. It was Woof's turn to mentor this year, but he didn't look particularly excited. Not that Lucky could blame him for that. The usual tributes from District Eight weren't very promising. Underfed, malnourished kids who breathed factory smoke day in and day out usually didn't do too well in the Games.

Lucky crossed his fingers as he reached into the first reaping bowl and pulled out a name. He quickly unfolded it. "Isabella Thatcher!"

Lucky breathed a sigh of relief when it was the eighteen-year-old section that parted. The girl was about average height and build, but at least she looked healthy. She had dark skin, long back hair, and brown eyes. Lucky couldn't help a little smile.

Then he saw her crutches.

"Shit," Lucky muttered under his breath before he could catch himself. Unfortunately, the microphone picked him up. But he'd only said what everyone else was thinking. The girl's leg was in a cast – probably broken. How was she supposed to fight anyone? Maybe someone would volunteer. Maybe.

Maybe.

But no one did. The girl stood perfectly still, maybe hoping for the same thing, until the Peacekeepers started to make their way towards her. Finally, she used her crutches to hobble up to the stage on her own. Lucky cringed sympathetically as she struggled to make her way up the stairs. Even if the Gamemakers let her use her crutches in the arena, she was pretty much done for. And that was _if_ they were feeling generous. Would that count as a district token? Or would they consider that a weapon?

He wasn't looking forward to finding out.

Hoping to draw the crowd's attention away from the girl, Lucky quickly dipped his hand into the second bowl. "Owen Askoya!" he called, hoping the boy would be a bit more promising.

Instead, it was the fourteen-year-old section that parted around a boy whose face immediately broke into a scowl. He was a little tall for his age but quite thin, with medium brown skin, short curly black hair, and brown eyes. The boy beside him immediately grabbed his arm, but Owen quickly broke away, heading for the stage on his own without the Peacekeepers having to step in. That was something, at least. But would it be enough to make up for his age?

Lucky pushed the thought from his head. A fourteen-year-old had won before. It didn't happen often, and he would have to get lucky, but at least it was possible. A tribute with a broken leg, on the other hand … she would have to get very, very lucky.

* * *

 **Wendy Hecataeus, 63  
** **District Nine Escort**

"Aunt Wendy! Aunt Wendy!"

Wendy smiled warmly as she snuck a few treats to the smaller children who had come to greet her at the train. The people in the districts generally weren't very friendly towards Capitolites, but the children, at least – and, to some extent, their parents – seemed to consider her an exception. Probably had something to do with the sweets she usually handed out before the reaping. For some of the children, it was probably the only taste of candy they got all year.

So she reached into her bag and handed out handful after handful. The younger ones squealed with delight, and even the older ones couldn't help but smile, grateful for something that might take their mind off the reaping, if only for a little while.

But not for long, because she soon joined Gerard onstage. "Save any for me?" he asked.

Wendy shook her head. "Sorry. Guess you'll just have to wait until the train."

"Fair enough," Gerard agreed. Better to let the children have their fun now. Soon enough, two of them wouldn't be having fun at all…

Wendy gave Gerard's shoulder a gentle pat before making her way towards the reaping bowl. She had been his mentor, all those years ago, before District Nine had a Victor of its own. She could still see him, a sickly little fourteen-year-old, rushing up to the stage, screaming that he wanted to volunteer. He had surprised everyone – including the Capitol.

It was a shame his attitude hadn't rubbed off on the rest of the district. Most of the teenagers in the audience stood perfectly still, perfectly quiet. Almost _deathly_ quiet. They knew that it was only a matter of luck that District Nine had a Victor at all. That Gerard had gotten lucky. So lucky.

But maybe it would happen again.

Wendy took a deep breath and dipped her hand into the first reaping bowl, swirling the papers around a little. As if that really made a difference. There was no way to tell from the slips, after all – or even from the names – who would have a chance in the Games and who wouldn't. Finally, she drew a slip of paper out and unfolded it. "Martha Cabott!"

Slowly, the fifteen-year-old section parted, revealing a short but surprisingly healthy-looking young girl. She had dark brown skin, long dark hair, and tired brown eyes that looked around for a moment, trying to process what was going on, before she finally took a few steps towards the stage. Then a few more. She kept looking straight ahead, her expression perfectly neutral. Gerard nodded a little as she joined them onstage. Not bad at all.

Wendy nodded back and reached into the second bowl. A little more swirling, and she drew another slip of paper. "Shasta Evans!"

This time, it was the seventeen-year-old section that parted around a tall, thin boy with pale skin, dark hair, and dark brown eyes. He hesitated only a moment before walking stiffly towards the stage. He was trying to smile, but the smile was clearly strained. Finally, he took his place beside the girl, his hands clasped behind his back, his legs spread apart a little. He looked a bit more relaxed, but certainly not happy about what was happening.

"All right, then!" Wendy beamed. "District Nine, your tributes: Martha and Shasta!" The pair of them shook hands, and the cameras immediately clicked off, maybe trying to hide the fact that absolutely no one was clapping. They never did. No one protested, no one rioted, but that didn't mean they had to be happy about it. That didn't mean they were excited about the fact that at least one of these two would be dead soon. No one was happy about that. But there was nothing they could do to change it.

* * *

 **Guy Smyth, 55  
** **District Ten Escort**

Every year, they promised him the same thing. Guy shook his head as he took the stage. _This is the year, Guy. This is your last year in Ten. Soon they'll move you somewhere else._

They'd been saying it for more than thirty years now.

Part of him wanted to quit. To just walk away. It was obvious now that they were never going to move him to a Career district. He was getting too old for that. But he didn't want to leave escorting entirely. Besides, it wasn't as if District Ten was _that_ bad. They did have two Victors…

The younger one, Trenton, nodded to Guy as the crowd quieted down a little. The younger kids were squirming, shifting nervously where they stood, hoping they wouldn't be picked. The older ones were hoping the same thing, of course, but most of them were a bit more composed about it. Guy reached into the first reaping bowl, hoping to end up with a good pair of tributes this year…

"Alexia Wright!" he called, immediately scanning the crowd for movement. Slowly, the seventeen-year-old section parted around a girl with dark, thick wavy hair down to her waist. Her skin was well-tanned, her eyes light brown and growing wider by the moment. Finally, the Peacekeepers began moving towards her, and that seemed to shake her out of her shock. "No!" she screamed. "No! You can't do this! It's a mistake! Let me go! Let me go!"

Of course, they didn't let her go. A pair of Peacekeepers dragged her to the stage, where she collapsed into a heap, begging. "Please. Please, this has to be a mistake. Just let me go and pick someone else! Please."

Guy shook his head. He wished he could just pick someone else. Someone who wouldn't sit there bawling their eyes out in front of the whole Capitol. He could only hope the boy would be more promising. Guy reached into the second bowl and drew a slip of paper. "Dexter Guernsey!"

Almost before he'd finished reading the slip, a boy burst out of the thirteen-year-old section. He was small and skinny, but he was pretty fast. He almost made it out of the crowd before the Peacekeepers caught hold of his arm and dragged him back to the stage, screaming all the while. "Let me go! Let me go!"

 _Great_. The boy was smaller than the girl and very pale, with freckles across his nose, blue-green eyes, and ginger hair that was bouncing across his face as the Peacekeepers dragged him forward. Finally, they dragged him up the stairs and dropped him beside the girl. "Good luck," one of the Peacekeepers muttered as the pair helped each other to their feet.

Guy shook his head. They were certainly going to need it.

* * *

 **Sophie Whitmore, 22  
** **District Eleven Escort**

She couldn't have been happier to see Rosamund again. Sophie held back a squeal as District Eleven's newest Victor joined her onstage. Last year had been her first year as an escort, and District Eleven had brought home a Victor. Her _very first year_!

Rosamund waved shyly as she took a seat next to Aria, District Eleven's only other Victor. But not for long – not if Sophie had anything to say about it. Last year had been so thrilling, she couldn't imagine _not_ bringing home another Victor this year.

"Hello, District Eleven!" Sophie called into the microphone, which squeaked a little as someone adjusted the sound system. "Last year was fantastic! Let's make this year even better – no offense, Rosamund. Twice in a row – can you imagine how wonderful that would be?"

It would be. The only district that had won back-to-back Games was District Four, and _they_ were a Career district. If District Eleven could manage the same thing…

But first she had to pick some good tributes. Sophie dipped her hand into the first reaping bowl and drew the first slip of paper her fingers found. "And our first tribute is … Cherimoya Thatch!"

To Sophie's delight, it was the sixteen-year-old section that started to stir. Good! Rosamund had been sixteen last year, and she had done just fine. The girl who emerged from the crowd, however, certainly looked more frightened than Rosamund had been. For a moment, Sophie thought she might run, but she seemed to think better of it and headed for the stage without much fuss, silently wiping away the tears that came to her eyes.

Sophie beamed at her as she joined them onstage. Maybe the tears weren't the best first impression, but the audience would excuse an outer-district tribute for crying during the reaping, as long as they did well once they were actually _in_ the Games. She was about average height, with a few muscles – probably from field work. She had dark skin, curly black hair, and dark brown eyes that remained fixed on the ground as Sophie turned back to the reaping bowls.

"All right! Let's see who will be joining Cherimoya!" Sophie called.

"Cherry," the girl corrected quietly.

Sophie turned. "What's that, dear?"

"Cherry. Just Cherry. No one calls me Cherimoya."

"Cherry it is, then," Sophie agreed. "Let's see who will be joining Cherry." She reached into the second bowl and drew a name. "Garth Kain!"

This time, it was the fifteen-year-old section that parted, but that wasn't too bad. Sixteen-year-olds had won before. Not many, but it had happened. And the boy who started to make his way out of the crowd certainly looked like he might have a chance. He was a little taller than the girl, with a few muscles. He certainly looked healthy enough. He had dark skin, curly black hair, and deep-set dark brown eyes.

It took him a while to make his way to the stage, but at least he got there on his own. And at least _he_ wasn't crying. He immediately held out his hand to the girl, and she shook it before wiping away a few more tears. Sophie turned back to the audience. "Your tributes, District Eleven! Cherry Thatch and Garth Kain! This is going to be the best Hunger Games yet!"

* * *

 **Ron Possible, 75  
** **District Twelve Escort**

It was dirty work, but _somebody_ had to do it. Ron glanced out at the crowd of children, all waiting to see if this was the year that they would be chosen, if they were the ones who would be sent to their deaths. It seemed like too harsh a punishment sometimes, but it had been the decision of the Capitol, and it was a punishment they had every right to inflict, after what the districts had done.

Still, there was no point in drawing out the inevitable, no point in making the reaping any more painful than it had to be. Ron glanced over at Ariel, who shrugged, echoing his sentiment. Might as well get it over with. Ron reached into the first reaping bowl. "Vivian Stoke!"

The seventeen-year-old section began to part, but before the girl could begin to make her way to the stage, a hand went up in the fourteen-year-old section. "I volunteer!" called a voice, and a girl started making her way towards the stage. She was about average height for her age, with light caramel skin, short choppy chestnut hair, and brown eyes.

Ron glanced over at Ariel, but she seemed just as surprised as he was. Outer-district volunteers weren't unheard of, but they were certainly rare, and such a thing had never happened in Twelve. "And what's your name, young lady?" he asked.

"Emilia Rey Fumero. And I'm not a young lady."

"Pardon?"

"I may look like a girl, but I don't exactly identify as a girl. I'd prefer it if you call me 'they' instead of 'she.'"

Ron nodded. "Kid, you just volunteered for the Hunger Games. As far as I'm concerned, you can call yourself whatever you like." He clapped a hand on their shoulder. "What a brave young person, District Twelve! Let's see who will be joining them." He reached into the second bowl and quickly drew another name. "Troy Arrowhead!"

Slowly, the fifteen-year-old section parted around a boy with pale skin, scruffy blonde hair, and blue eyes. He was about the same height as Emilia but certainly less eager to be going into the Games. For a moment, he looked around, maybe wondering if someone was going to volunteer for him, too. But one volunteer was incredible enough in District Twelve; two was too much to hope for.

Finally convinced no one was going to save him, the boy slowly made his way to the stage, blinking the tears away from his eyes and wiping them with his sleeve. Emilia held out their hand as soon as he joined them onstage, maybe wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible to help their district partner save face. Troy shook their hand, trying not to face the cameras, trying not to let them see his tears until finally, mercifully, they switched off.

* * *

 **Whee! That's it for the reapings. I was originally going to split it up into two or three chapters with a few districts each, but once I got started, it seemed easier to just keep going. Here's the plan for the rest of the Pre-Games stuff:**

 **The next four chapter will be goodbyes, train rides, chariot prep, and chariot rides. Each tribute will get a POV in one of those chapters, six tributes per chapter. If you mentioned something in your form that happens during the goodbyes - someone specific coming, or giving them a district token or something - that's the chapter your tribute will be in; the rest will be distributed at random.**

 **Three training chapters, which, to be honest, will probably be pretty short. Training is usually a good time for alliances and stuff to form, but alliances will be so mixed up during the Games anyway, it's probably a bit pointless to have too many tributes team up for certain beforehand. The Careers will probably start off as a group, at least, but depending on how the Games go, that might not last long. Eight tributes per training chapter (again, randomly distributed) and then...**

 **Private gamemaker sessions, score announcements, interviews, and the launch. Six tributes per chapter, distributed randomly.**

 **And then the Games!**

 **Again, this should move pretty quickly from here out. Because of this, I certainly don't expect everybody to review each chapter, so no pressure. Since everything is randomly generated anyway, reviews determine exactly nothing. Just sit back and enjoy the (probably rather bumpy) ride.**


	14. Goodbyes - Starting Hand

**Goodbyes  
** **Starting Hand**

* * *

 _Starting Hand: The initial set of cards dealt to each player._

* * *

 **Decima Clear, 17  
** **District Two**

"You ungrateful wench!" her mother spat. "How could you do this? After all I've done for you, you go and throw it all away? And for what? What could you possibly gain from being a Victor that you don't already have?"

 _Freedom._ But Decima didn't say it. She simply let her mother storm out of the room. At least this way, she would be free – whichever way the Games went. If she survived, she would never have to see her mother again. She would never have to _obey_ her mother again, never have to live in fear of what her mother might do if she didn't obey. And if she lost … if she _died_ … well, that would just be a different kind of freedom.

Decima shook her head. She didn't plan on dying. She had been training for this for years. If anyone was prepared for the Games, she was. She could do this.

She _had_ to do this.

Decima paced back and forth in the tiny Justice Building room, waiting. Maybe no one else was coming. She had been hoping that maybe her father would come, but maybe her mother had forbidden it. He always did what she said. _Decima_ had always done what she said – until now.

Maybe her mother hadn't realized just how serious she was about training, about volunteering. She must have heard, through someone or other, that Decima had been chosen to volunteer. It hadn't exactly been a secret. Maybe she hadn't thought her daughter would really go through with it. Maybe she didn't realize just how desperate Decima was. Maybe she hadn't thought she would really have the guts to break away from her. But she was wrong.

* * *

 **Merric Belgrave, 18  
** **District Four**

He had really done it. Merric leaned back in his chair, a smile on his face as his family left the room. They hadn't said much, but maybe there wasn't much to say. They had known, of course, that he was planning to volunteer. They had already said their goodbyes. But it wouldn't be goodbye forever, so there was no point in getting all teary-eyed about it.

And he had saved a life. It was becoming more common in District Four, but the boy whose name was called – Damarion – he would certainly be grateful that he wouldn't have to go into the Games. That no younger teenagers would be forced into the Games against their will. Not in District Four.

There would be some from other districts, of course. Younger tributes. Weaker tributes. Tributes who wouldn't stand a chance. Merric shook his head. It didn't really seem fair – forcing them into a fight against Careers like him. A fight they could never really hope to win. It was almost pitiful.

No. No, he couldn't let himself feel sorry for them – no matter how young or helpless they might seem. Any other year, he could give in to that feeling. He could pity them, hope for them to do well or maybe even win. But not this year. Because if he wanted to win, they had to die. _All_ of them had to die. Even the youngest and least prepared.

But that didn't mean he had to be the one to kill them. He could let the others take out the younger, weaker ones. Then he could eliminate the stronger ones himself, fairly. That was all there was to it, in the end. All he had to do was his best. His best had always been good enough. Why would this time be any different?

* * *

 **Carlisle Talbot, 18  
** **District Six**

"What were you _thinking_?" his father demanded for what must have been the fifth of sixth time. "This was your _last_ year. It was over. They'd picked someone else!"

Carlisle looked away. They _had_ picked someone else. And if they had picked any other name, he would probably be sitting safely at home right now. But they had picked Tyree – Bertie's son. It wasn't fair. Maybe it was even rigged. Repayment for Bertie making it out of the Games alive all those years ago. It wasn't fair.

It was _wrong_.

But he didn't say any of that. District Six already had one Victor who had been a rebel; the Capitol certainly wouldn't let them have another. Not that he considered himself a rebel. Or not that he would have, before today. But in that moment, somehow, something had changed. Something had snapped. He couldn't do anything to change things in District Six, but he could spare one person the pain of losing a child to the Games.

Carlisle let out a deep breath as his father left. Had he simply replaced that pain with another? Had he simply taken Bertie's pain and shifted it to his own father? Maybe. But only if he didn't come back. Only if he died in the Games.

Suddenly, a quiet knock on the door shook him from his thoughts. The door opened, revealing Tyree, with Bertie behind him. Tyree took a step inside the room. "I … I just wanted to say thank you." There were tears in the younger boy's eyes. "Whatever made you volunteer … thank you."

Carlisle nodded a little, and, for a moment, it was all worth it.

* * *

 **Ichabod Garjan, 13  
** **District Seven**

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room as Marcus entered. "Itchy, I … I'm sorry."

Ichabod shook his head. "For what?"

"That I didn't volunteer for you. I was thinking…"

"I know you were," Ichabod interrupted. "Why do you think I raced for the stage like that? If you took my place – if you _died_ – how would I ever be able to live with myself?"

Marcus shook his head. "How am _I_ supposed to live with it if you die, knowing that I could have saved you?"

Ichabod shrugged. "I guess I'll just have to not die, then."

They both chuckled awkwardly. If only it were that easy. Marcus slipped something into Ichabod's hand. "I brought these. Thought you might want them as your token."

Ichabod looked down at the dice in his hands. His parents had carved them for him and his brother a few years ago. They were probably waiting outside, giving the two of them a little time to say goodbye alone.

Ichabod swallowed hard, slipping one of the dice back into Marcus' hand. "You keep one. I'll take the other. And when I get back, we can play a game – just like old times."

Marcus nodded a little, but they both knew better. Even if he made it back – even if he somehow beat the odds and became the youngest Victor ever – nothing would be just like old times. Nothing would ever be the same again. But if he made it through the Games … well, then he could deal with whatever came afterwards. First, he had to survive. Ichabod tucked the die in his pocket, then wrapped his arms around his brother. "I'll see you then."

* * *

 **Owen Askoya, 14  
** **District Eight**

All the crying was starting to get annoying. Owen shook his head as Lars wiped away more tears. "Pull yourself together," he grumbled. " _I'm_ the one who was reaped. If anyone has a right to be upset, it's me."

"So why aren't you?" Lars asked through tears.

Owen said nothing. He _was_ upset. And more than that, he was angry. He was furious. But he couldn't let that show – not yet. And he certainly couldn't afford to appear angry at the Games themselves. Once he was in the arena, he could be angry at the other tributes all he wanted. That was what the Capitol wanted in the Games. But not before – and certainly not directed at them.

Owen shook his head. "Because I have a plan."

Lars perked up a little at the thought. "You do?"

"Of course I do." It was a lie. He didn't have a plan – not yet. He had plenty of ideas bouncing around in his head, but nothing concrete yet. Nothing that could really be called a plan. A concept, maybe. A thought. But a plan? Even tributes who went into the arena with a solid, workable plan usually abandoned them fairly quickly. Because there was no way of knowing in advance what the arena would be like.

But he could pretend. He could pretend to have a plan, pretend to have an ace up his sleeve. And maybe if he pretended long enough, maybe if he convinced everyone _else_ that he knew what he was doing, maybe – just maybe – he would be able to convince himself.

* * *

 **Garth Kain, 15  
** **District Eleven**

By the time his fifth patient came in, Garth couldn't hold back his tears anymore. It was just like a regular day at the therapy office – appointment after appointment. Except these ones were rushed, and there were more tears, and he was about to leave for a fight to the death.

Okay, maybe it wasn't like a regular day at all.

"You can do this, kid," Des offered in a tone that was probably supposed to be reassuring. Was this what _he_ usually sounded like? Coaxing others into doing things they never thought they were capable of? Maybe. But _he_ was used to talking people into believing they could help themselves – not believing they had it in them to kill others.

But whether he liked it or not, from this point on, helping himself _did_ mean killing others. Only one person would make it out of the Games alive. If he wanted it to be him, he couldn't worry about anyone else. Not even his allies, if he found any. Not even his district partner. Eventually, he would have to put himself first.

He wasn't used to that.

Garth nodded politely as patient after patient continued to stream through, each with some variation on the same sentiments. _You can do this_. _You deserve to win. We're all rooting for you._ They were, he was certain. But what good would that really do him once he was in the arena? Maybe he did deserve to win, but who was he to say that the other tributes didn't? Who was he to decide that his life was worth more than theirs? Who was he to decide that he was the one who should be coming home?


	15. Train Rides - Dealer's Choice

**Train Rides  
** **Dealer's Choice**

* * *

 _Dealer's Choice: In which the dealer decides what particular game is to be played, and designates any special variations or unusual rules._

* * *

 **Deimos Martel, 18  
** **District Two**

"Are you going to stare at that thing all the way to the Capitol?" Decima asked, clearly irritated, as the tape of the reapings finished playing. But Deimos' eyes were still on the coin in his hands – the coin that Raiden had given him at the reaping. Decima shook her head. "You made it in, okay? Time to focus."

Maybe it was. But he couldn't. Not until he had an answer. Finally, Decima stormed out of the train car and into the next one, and Deimos turned to Raiden. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you pick me?"

"You won the coin flip."

"Bullshit." Deimos held up the coin – a coin with two heads. "You _wanted_ me to be the one to win, so why not just say so? Why go to the trouble of pretending it was random?"

"So that Jackson won't be bitter," Raiden reasoned. "He'll probably be picked next year, and it won't do to have him resenting me for choosing someone else. As for why I picked you, you were right. You're eighteen; this is your last shot. Why not let you have it?"

"You were sixteen," Deimos objected.

"That was different. That was a Quarter Quell. Whether Jackson gets to volunteer for the 32nd Games or the 33rd won't really matter to him. But to _you_ , it makes all the difference. So … why not?"

Why not? Deimos turned the coin over in his hand. "Do you mind if I keep this? As a district token?"

Raiden smiled. "Keep it. There'll be plenty more where that came from if you win. Consider it a reminder … Sometimes you have to make your own luck."

* * *

 **Clemence Aldrin, 14  
** **District Six**

It was obvious who Bertie would be paying more attention to. As hard as their mentor was trying to remain neutral, to give both of them good advice, he wouldn't be able to help favoring the boy who had saved his son. It was only natural, maybe. Only human. But it was a bad stroke of luck for her.

That wasn't Bertie's fault, of course – or even Carlisle's. If he hadn't stepped in, it would be Tyree going into the Games with her, which would have the same result. Bertie would be determined to save his son at all costs, ignoring her in the process. It wasn't _anyone's_ fault, and that just made it even more frustrating. There was no one for her to blame.

No one except their escort, maybe. Ananias was sitting beside her at the table, his arms bare now, revealing a host of animal tattoos running up and down his limbs. A snake wove its way around his wrist as he reached for the plate of butter that was between them. "Are you all right?" he asked. "You've barely eaten a thing."

It was true – and maybe a bit surprising. She was usually hungry. And that wasn't really the problem. She _was_ certainly hungry, but her stomach was still churning fiercely, and she was worried that if she _did_ try to eat something, it might come right back up again. Carlisle, meanwhile, didn't seem to have the same problem, and had already wolfed down a plateful of food and gone back for seconds.

Clemence dug her fork into a piece of chicken, but all she could think of was having to do the same to a person. Quickly, she got up from the table and raced for the next car, barely making it to the toilet before what little she had eaten came spewing out. Great. Just great.

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

"Two Isabellas! Isn't that great!" Isadora squeaked as the tape of the reapings continued to play. "And she even has the same last name as you! What are the odds?"

Pretty low, probably. But, then again, she had assumed the odds of her being reaped were pretty low, and yet here she was, on a train. On her way to the Capitol.

"What are we going to do about that?" Dolores asked. "We don't want the sponsors getting mixed up and sending gifts to the wrong tribute. Or the audience forgetting which one is which."

Izzy shook her head. "It's not as if we look alike." She was twelve; the other Isabella was eighteen. She had light skin; the other girl's skin was dark. And _she_ didn't have a broken leg, which certainly put her at a bit of an advantage. But if they really _wanted_ a way to be able to distinguish the two of them…

"I could go by Izzy," she suggested. She did often enough, anyway.

"Perfect!" Isadora beamed. "Izzy and Ichabod." Ichabod raised his hand, and Isadora chuckled. "What is it, dear?"

"My brother calls me Itchy," he offered quietly. "If Izzy has to go by a nickname to avoid confusion, it only seems fair for me to do the same."

"Itchy it is," Isadora agreed gleefully. "Izzy and Itchy, the little underdogs from District Seven."

Izzy cringed. Sure, she and Itchy were two of the younger tributes in the arena, but did that immediately make them underdogs? And did she really want Isadora treating them like they were already a pair? Itchy didn't seem to mind, but would anyone else really want to ally with _two_ younger tributes? If the two of them stayed together, would they really have a chance?

* * *

 **Shasta Evans, 17  
** **District Nine**

What sort of chance did he really have in the Games? Shasta shifted a little in his chair, trying to find a more comfortable position. But there was none to be found, so he slowly stood up again. Martha turned from where she was polishing off another piece of pie. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Shasta lied, hoping it was convincing. He didn't usually go around advertising his back problems, but it wasn't exactly a secret either. Now that he was headed for the Games, though, he couldn't afford to look weak – especially not in front of his district partner.

Gerard glanced over at Wendy, who took the cue perfectly. "Martha, sweetie, why don't we get you changed out of that dress and into something nice? Come along, now. Come along."

Shasta relaxed a little as Wendy led Martha away. "Thanks."

Gerard shook his head. "Don't thank me. How long do you think you'll be able to hide your secret once you're in the arena?"

"It's not a secret," Shasta protested. "So I've got a bad back. Do you know how many people in District Nine have back problems from working in the fields?" When Gerard didn't answer, Shasta shook his head. "You have no idea, do you. Living in your cozy house in Victors' Village – it's made you soft."

To his surprise, Gerard didn't protest. "I was soft before that. Never worked a day in the fields in my life. My parents thought it would kill me. They were probably right. But you see, the Capitol didn't care how sick I was. They don't care about your bad back – not unless you give them a reason to."

"A reason to?"

Gerard nodded. "You're a hard-working, productive district citizen. Let them see _that_ , not the pain you're in. Give them a reason to like you – a reason to _support_ you – and I think they will."

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

It was still sinking in. The fear. The dread. The sense of inevitability that had been creeping over her ever since she'd set foot on the train. Alexia watched as Dexter, Trenton, and Guy sat around the table with her, scarfing down as much food as they could. Just three guys eating dinner … and then her. She'd eaten a little, but not much. Not nearly as much as any of them. How could they be _hungry_ right now? Didn't they realize what was going on?

Of course, two of them weren't in any real danger. Trenton had already won the Games, and Guy … he was a Capitolite. If he cared at all about what happened to her, it was only because he wanted to be moved to a different district, and escorts who helped bring home more Victors were always more popular, more likely to be moved where they wanted. He didn't really care whether it was her coming home, or whether it was Dexter.

Alexia looked away, trying not to look at her younger district partner. It wasn't fair – forcing kids like him into the Games. It wasn't fair to force _anyone_ into the Games. They'd watched the other reapings together, and there had been a surprising number of volunteers – even a few from the outer districts – but that still left far too many tributes going into the Games against their will.

Tributes like her.

"Alexia?" Dexter asked, shaking her from her thoughts. "Could you pass me that knife?" She quickly did as he asked, and he cut himself a large piece of cake. Eagerly, hungrily, as if he'd never eaten anything quite so good in his life. He probably hadn't. At least he was getting something good before the end. That was something.

But it wasn't really enough.

* * *

 **Troy Arrowhead, 15  
** **District Twelve**

"And that's how I escaped their trap," Ron finished with a smile, a flourish of his hands, and a wink at Ariel. Troy couldn't help smiling along. He'd heard rumors that Ron had been a spy for the Capitol during the rebellion all those years ago, but rumors weren't the same as actually hearing it straight from the horse's mouth. Emilia, too, was leaning in closer, their eyes wide. It felt a bit strange, knowing that their escort had actively worked against the districts, but it still made a good story.

No. Not against the districts. Against the _rebels_. There was a difference. Rebels were a small but troublesome minority in the districts, responsible for bringing the Capitol's punishment down on the rest of them. That was what the Games were, after all – punishment for the rebellion. But not his rebellion. Not even his parents'. It didn't seem fair.

But he couldn't say that. Not here. Not if he wanted to impress the Capitol. Troy smiled up at Ron. "Wow. You're a real hero."

Ron snorted. "I did my duty. That's all the Capitol asks of any of us – including you. And right now, your duty is to be the best tribute you can be. Both of you."

The best tribute he could be. But that meant killing. Killing other kids who were no different from him, really. Other kids like Emilia. But Emilia had volunteered for this. He had never wanted to kill. He'd never wanted anything other than an ordinary life in District Twelve. But any hope of that was gone now.

Gone forever, because even if he won – even if he came back – nothing would ever be the same again. Troy tried to smile, tried not to let his fear show. Ron made it sound so easy – just be the best tribute he could be. But his smile was beginning to crack. He didn't _want_ to be a tribute. He didn't want to be here.


	16. Chariot Prep - Royal Flush

**Chariot Prep  
** **Royal Flush**

* * *

 _Royal Flush: A straight flush including ace, king, queen, jack, and ten all in the same suit._

* * *

 **Confidence Best, 16  
** **District One**

These were going to be the best chariot rides ever. Confidence grinned as his stylists helped him into a red robe with gold trim. Most of the other districts weren't even close to being ready for the chariot rides yet. They all had to be soaked and dried and poked and plucked until they were ready for the cameras.

He had been born ready.

Of course, growing up in District One certainly helped. It wasn't the _Capitol_ , but at least they had access to fresh water, clean clothes, more food than the outer districts could dream of. _Especially_ those lucky enough to attend the Career academy. They were treated like royalty – and now, that's exactly what he was going to look like. Royalty. A king.

A king of diamonds, to be precise. Beside him, Thalia was already dressed in a flowing red gown with gold lining. Each of them had been given a scepter topped with a large white diamond. Maybe a king and queen of diamonds was hitting the "games" angle a little too much on the nose, but the whole point of the tribute parade was to have _fun_. Tomorrow, the real work would begin.

"Ready?" Confidence asked, and Thalia nodded. The other Careers were probably prepared, as well – which meant they would have some time to introduce themselves to their allies before the actual parade began.

Maybe it wasn't much time, but every little bit would help. Confidence beamed as the two of them straightened their robes and headed for their chariot. Time to put on a show.

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

"We all think it's so _wonderful_ that you volunteered," Cosima's stylist, Patsy, gushed. "We just want to know why, dear. What would make such a lovely young girl with no obvious training want to volunteer for a fight to the death?"

Cosima sighed. She wished they would stop asking. Her district partner, Stanley. Her mentor, Lois. And now her prep team. All they wanted to know was why she had volunteered, what would make someone want to risk their life in the Games. If she'd known people were going to be this nosy about it…

Then what? It wasn't as if she didn't have a reason. She _had_ a reason. And a damn good one, too, even if Stanley had laughed when she'd explained, even if Lois had shaken her head with a patronizing smile on her face. They didn't understand. They didn't realize just how bad she'd had it back home, just how desperately she'd wanted to be free.

But maybe Patsy would. "I wanted what you have," Cosima answered. "The freedom to do what I want to do, when I want to do it. To go where I want. To _be_ who I want. I didn't have any of that back in District Three, and … and I want it."

To her surprise, Patsy threw her arms around her, wrapping her in a hug. "That's the spirit, dear. _That's_ what the Games are about. They're a chance to _be_ what you wouldn't be able to be elsewhere. To get down in the mud and get blood on your hands and revel in the dying screams of your opponents. Who _wouldn't_ want the chance to be a tribute?

Cosima shook her head. "That's not what I meant. That's not what I wanted."

Patsy smirked. "No, probably not. But it's what you got."

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

"What sort of stupid costume is this supposed to be?" Wade grumbled, staring at the outfit in front of him. His stylists had already made him undress, which had been humiliating enough. Now they wanted to stick him in some stupid, brightly-colored outfit to show him off to the Capitol. No thank you.

At least District Five's costumes usually had something to do with electricity, or power plants, or _something_. But the red shirt and blue overalls in front of him didn't look like any factory uniform he'd seen before. And the white gloves and the silly red hat with a "W" on it – probably for "Wade" – were just too ridiculous.

His stylist, Hal, however, simply shrugged. "It's either that or you can get in the chariot looking like this." He gestured to Wade, completely naked in front of him. "So what'll it be?"

"I'd rather have my old clothes back," Wade complained.

Hal shook his head. "Not an option. Oh, they'll be kept for you. Either so you can have them once you go back to the district, or … well, to have something to send your body home in. One or the other. And I can tell you that the sponsors who are going to see you tonight – the sponsors who might just save your life in the arena – would _definitely_ prefer to see you in _this_. He gestured towards the silly outfit in front of him. "So, what's it going to be, kiddo?"

"Don't call me kiddo," Wade mumbled, but started dressing, anyway. He just hoped Emerson's outfit looked as ridiculous as his.

* * *

 **Isabella Thatcher, 18  
** **District Eight**

Maybe they were just hoping a long, puffy dress would be enough to hide the cast on her leg. Isabella couldn't really think of any other reason to give her such a large, flowing costume. Unless they figured that since District Eight was responsible for fabric, the more fabric they could pile on her, the better. She certainly wasn't going to complain. She couldn't afford to. Her chances were slim enough as it was; she couldn't afford to antagonize anyone.

"Oh, you look just _gorgeous,_ " her stylist, Precious, crooned. Isabella couldn't help a smile. The dress _was_ beautiful – long and golden and frilly, almost like a princess. In fact, the next thing Precious showed her was a thin silver tiara.

Isabella raised an eyebrow. "Okay, _explain_. District One is luxury. Royalty. We're just the fabric district, so … what's with the crown?"

Precious giggled. "Oh, I'm sure it'll be clear once you see what we've got planned for your district partner."

"Owen? What are you planning to do to him?" And why did she _care_? It wasn't as if the two of them had really become close during the train rides. She couldn't really blame him for that, of course. If she was in his place, would she want to make friends with a tribute with a broken leg? A tribute who stood absolutely no chance once the Games began?

Isabella took a deep breath. She couldn't start thinking like that. She had to keep acting like she had a chance. The sponsors didn't want to see her break down during the chariot rides. They wanted to believe that she had a chance. They wanted to see tributes who were willing to fight. But how was she supposed to _do_ that?

* * *

 **Martha Cabott, 15  
** **District Nine**

This was absolutely the stupidest chariot ride ever. It was all Martha could to do keep from punching her stylist, Ramon, as he pulled a pair of silly, furry gloves over her hands. It went with the rest of the costume, which, as far as she could tell, what supposed to look like a giant mole. And, sure, there were moles in District Nine. But there were also plenty of other things. Plenty of _better_ ideas that wouldn't make her look like an idiot in a stupid costume.

And to make matters worse, it was getting _hot_. And if she was this hot now, she could only imagine what it would feel like during the chariot rides themselves. "What about some water?" she asked, hoping that they would take a hint and maybe offer to trim some of the weight off her costume, as well.

No such luck. Ramon held a straw up to her lips; her arms couldn't move very much inside the ridiculous mole costume. For a moment, Martha considered spitting as much water as she could in his stupid Capitolite face. But if she did _that_ , he probably wouldn't give her any more, so she thought better of it. For now.

Finally, the stupid costume was ready, and she headed out to the chariots. Along the way, Shasta caught up with her, a bit of a grin on his face. "What the hell is that?"

"Search me," Martha grumbled. _His_ costume didn't look so bad – just a pair of dopey overalls over a plain white shirt, and a mallet in his hand. "Ohhhh," she realized when she saw the mallet. _Of course._ As if things hadn't been bad enough already…

* * *

 **Emilia Fumero, 14  
** **District Twelve**

"Canaries?" Emilia asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's your plan?"

"Why, of course," her stylist, Cassius, beamed. "Don't you have canaries in your coal mines?"

Emilia shook their head. "What for?"

"To detect gasses, of course. Canary in the coal mine – isn't that the expression?"

Maybe it was, but it was just one of those things that people said. "We don't _actually_ put birds in mines. That would be cruel."

Not as cruel as sending kids to fight to the death, of course, but they knew better than to say so. They had volunteered for this, after all. For a chance – a _chance_ – at a better life. The life they'd always dreamed of. If they came home a Victor, that would have to bring their family back together, the way things had been. The way things _should_ be.

"How silly of me." Cassius shook his head. "And here I was thinking I was being clever … you'll be the laughing stock of the tribute parade, and it's all my fault."

Emilia couldn't help staring. Were those tears in his eyes? _He_ wasn't the one who was going to be fighting for their life in a few days. "Look, maybe we don't have canaries, but no one _else_ has to know that," Emilia reasoned. "For all they know, that's exactly what we do, so … let's pretend."

Cassius immediately perked up – just like a little kid. "Really?"

Emilia nodded, swallowing the urge to say exactly what they thought about such a ridiculous idea. It wouldn't do to upset their stylist any more than they already had. "Really," they agreed. "Let's do it."


	17. Chariots - Play the Hand You're Dealt

**Chariot Rides  
** **Play the Hand You're Dealt**

* * *

 _Play the hand you're dealt: To accept, deal with, and make the most of one's current situation or circumstances._

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

"So what are _those_ supposed to be?" Confidence asked, gesturing to District Two's outfits. Deimos and Decima were covered in little round, glass balls of some sort. It wasn't the _worst_ chariot costume ever, but it certainly wasn't as impressive as their own robes and crowns.

Deimos shook his head. "It seems my stylist found out that marble is one of the kinds of rock that comes out of District Two … but something got lost in translation, and _Decima's_ stylist thought he wanted to base the costumes around _marbles_."

Thalia had to fight to keep from laughing. If the rest of the costumes were as silly as Two's, then she and Confidence wouldn't have any trouble keeping the audience's attention during the parade. That was better for them, wasn't it?

Maybe. It wasn't as if the Career pack was usually lacking in sponsors, anyway. So making an impression during the tribute parade wasn't as important to them as it was to the outer districts. Still, it felt good to have a costume that managed to reflect her district _and_ keep her and Confidence from looking like idiots.

"So what do you think of District Four?" Decima asked, probably eager to change the subject. Four's tributes hadn't emerged yet, but asking about them was a smart move. It implied that the four of _them_ were already a pack, that all they had to determine was whether or not District Four would join them.

Thalia shrugged as the four of them headed towards their chariots. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see." But they wouldn't have to wait too long.

* * *

 **Stanley Newton, 18  
** **District Three**

Maybe their outfits weren't particularly stunning, but at least they weren't anything outrageous. Their stylists had given Stanley a pair of wide-rimmed glasses to match Cosima's and dressed the two of them in black-and-white checkered shirts and dark blue pants with suspenders. They'd given him an abacus and Cosima a clipboard, which she pretended to scribble on furiously as the chariot finally started rolling.

Stanley sighed and moved a few of the beads back and forth on the abacus. Was this what the Capitol thought people did in District Three? They were the _technology_ district. Maybe their computers weren't as advanced as the _Capitol's_ , but this was ridiculous. He didn't have any _idea_ how an abacus actually worked. No one did.

But the crowd didn't know that. Or, more likely, they didn't care. They were cheering, but most of the cheers were probably for the two Career districts at the front of the parade. Or, at least, for District One. Two's outfits were a bit silly, but it wasn't as if anyone was going to avoid sending a sponsor gift to someone from Two because they'd had a dumb chariot outfit.

District _Three_ , on the other hand … they needed all the help they could get. But they certainly weren't going to get any from their stylists, who apparently thought of them as backwards, abacus-using, clipboard-wielding nerds. Not exactly the sort of tributes who usually did well in the Games.

The real trouble, of course, was that was exactly the sort of tribute he _was_. Not as primitive, maybe, but certainly as intellectual, and as physically unprepared for the challenge. And it wasn't as if the next few days would change that.

* * *

 **Freya Clearwater, 17  
** **District Four**

It was getting harder to focus on what she was doing – on what she was supposed to be doing. Smiling at the crowd. Waving. Pretending that she wanted to be here. She had volunteered, after all. The crowds might assume that it was because she was trained, unless she gave them a reason to believe otherwise.

But how long would she be able to fool them once she was actually in the arena? How long would she be able to fool the other Careers? How long could she really keep her lack of training secret from her own district partner?

Of course, she was only assuming that _he_ was a Career, too. He hadn't done anything to make her think otherwise, but he was probably assuming the same thing about her. Was it better to let him keep thinking that?

But once the Games began…

"Freya," Merric hissed, nodding towards the crowd. Quickly, Freya raised to two shells she had in her hand. The crowd cheered, but not much. Maybe they could tell. Maybe they'd already realized.

She wasn't sure which one to hope for – that they would be fooled into thinking that she knew what she was doing, that she _was_ a Career … or that someone would realize. Someone would put the pieces together and she wouldn't be expected to be part of the pack. What would they do if she simply told them, if she revealed that she'd only volunteered for the chance to save her mother? Would the Capitol understand, or would they be disappointed? What was she supposed to do now?

* * *

 **Emerson Watt, 13  
** **District Five**

Everything was so exciting! Emerson's gaze darted back and forth as the chariots kept rolling. The stylists had given her a long, pink dress and a crown, as if trying to dress her up as a princess. How that went with Wade's bright red shirt and blue overalls, she wasn't entirely sure, but maybe that didn't matter. It was all for fun, anyway.

Ahead of them, District Four was all covered in shells, with a table in front of them. The boy from Four was circling three shells around on the table, every so often lifting one of them to reveal a pearl.

Behind them, District Six's tributes were dressed as racecar drivers, with bright outfits and funny helmets that hid most of their faces.

District Seven sported a pair of wooden chess pieces – a king and a queen, which seemed a bit funny for two of the younger tributes in the arena. Then again, _she_ was dressed like a princess, so maybe it wasn't her place to judge.

District Eight was next. The girl was dressed as a princess. Had they done that intentionally – giving some of the tributes similar costumes? Maybe. Or maybe they'd simply wanted to match her district partner, who was dressed as some sort of goblin or troll, his face almost completely covered in ridiculous makeup. In front of them was some sort of spinning wheel. Did they still use those in District Eight? She was pretty sure she'd heard of one in a story – some sort of troll with a funny name. Maybe it would come to her later.

* * *

 **Dexter Guernsey, 13  
** **District Ten**

At least he didn't have to pretend to whack his district partner with a mallet. Dexter giggled a little as the boy from Nine pretended to whack the girl, who was dressed as a mole. He and Alexia, meanwhile, had been dressed as horse jockeys, their brightly colored outfits quite similar to the pair from Six. But unlike the tributes from Six, _he_ got to ride a horse.

Dexter clung tightly to the horse's mane with one hand as he waved at the crowds with the other. Beside him, Alexia was doing the same, trying her best to smile and wave at the cheering audience. District Eleven, meanwhile, didn't seem quite so enthusiastic. They were each dressed in khaki pants, a striped shirt, and a blue cap with an 11 embroidered on the front. The girl held a bat, while the boy had been given a baseball.

What that had to do with District Eleven, Dexter wasn't entirely sure. Maybe they'd confused a crop field with a baseball field. But at least that wasn't as bad as District Twelve. _They_ were dressed as canaries. Dexter shook his head, wondering what they'd done to deserve _that._

Probably nothing – and that was the worst part. None of them had done anything to deserve this. There were a few who wanted it – Careers and a few outer-district volunteers – but most of them wanted no part of this.

 _He_ certainly didn't. He just wanted to go home. But standing between him and home were twenty-three other tributes who would have to _die_ if he wanted to make it back to his family. He wasn't ready for that. He would _never_ be ready for that.

* * *

 **Cherry Thatch, 16  
** **District Eleven**

Cherry gripped her baseball bat tightly as the chariot rolled to a stop. The crowd slowly quieted down as President Valiance appeared on the balcony. She giggled sweetly, her smile deceptively cordial. "Welcome, my children, to the Thirty-Second Annual Hunger Games! And a special welcome to the tributes who join us tonight. What a special night for all of us!"

Cherry gripped her bat a little tighter, fighting back the urge to take the ball that Garth held and hit it up towards the president. Not that she'd be likely to actually hit her, but it would feel good to do _something_. Anything to let the Capitol know that they weren't here of their own free will. That she and Garth certainly didn't _want_ to be here, and this wasn't a 'special' night for them.

 _Don't._ If she did anything that might suggest she wanted to harm the president – even with a baseball – that could ruin her chances of making it back home to her family. Back to her little sisters. If she ever wanted to see them again, she had to _behave_. She had to be the best tribute she could.

Cherry took a deep breath as the president finished her speech. District Eleven had won last year. Rosamund had been her age. Maybe she had a chance. Maybe. She just had to stop herself from ruining it.

Finally, the crowd applauded as the president finished talking, and the tributes made their way out of the chariots and towards the nearby building where they would be spending the next few days. Cherry followed Garth silently towards the elevator. Tomorrow, everything would be different.


	18. Training Day One - Blind Bet

**Training Day One  
** **Blind Bet**

* * *

 _Blind Bet: To bet before looking at one's hand._

* * *

 **Troy Arrowhead, 15  
** **District Twelve**

"Sleep at all?" Ron asked as Troy stumbled out of his room, his training outfit quickly thrown on after a buzzer had roused him from what little sleep he'd gotten. He'd been hoping to wake up and realize it was all a dream. That he was back home in District Twelve.

The beds in District Twelve weren't nearly as soft, though. And that made it worse. The horror of the Games was wrapped up in all this luxury. The warm clothes, the delicious food, the soft beds. If only there could be one without the other…

There could, of course. The Capitol had luxury like this year-round, without having to fear for their lives or the lives of their children. Troy slumped into a seat beside Emilia, across the table from their mentor and escort. "A little," he mumbled. "What did I miss?"

"Not much," Emilia assured him. "I haven't been up long, either. Ron and Ariel were about to make some suggestions about what stations to visit."

Ariel nodded. "I'd stick to the survival stations and some of the easier weapons. Don't expect to be able to pick up a bow and use it as well as someone who's been training with it all their life. You only have three days; don't bite off more than you can chew."

"And don't spend too much time at any one station," Ron suggested. "If there's something you're not making any progress with, move on to something else. Find something that comes easily to you."

"And if nothing does?" Troy asked quietly. He couldn't imagine any sort of weapon coming easily to him. He couldn't picture himself stabbing someone, or shooting someone, or setting a trap to _kill_ someone.

Ron shrugged. "Then bluff. Let's be honest; no one is going to be watching District Twelve too closely. Keep moving from station to station, keep away from the Careers, and see if you can find yourself an ally or two." He smiled as the buzzer sounded, summoning them all to the training area. "Good luck."

* * *

 **Isabella Thatcher, 18  
** **District Eight**

Fortunately, the trainers had agreed to let Isabella bring her crutches into the training area as long as she didn't show any signs of using them as a weapon against someone. Not that she'd been planning to. Her broken leg already made her enough of a target. She didn't need to give the stronger tributes a _reason_ to want her dead.

So once the rest of the tributes arrived and the trainers allowed them to enter, she headed for the trap-setting station. She obviously wasn't going to stand much of a chance in a fair fight, but if she could set a trap or two, maybe catch another tribute and then kill them, _maybe_ she'd be able to last longer.

Longer. Isabella settled down at the station with the girl from Eleven, both of them watching the trainer closely. The goal wasn't to survive _longer_. If she died, it didn't really matter whether she was the first to die or whether she made it to the finale before being killed. Maybe it would matter to her family, or to the audience, but _she_ would be dead.

She didn't _want_ to be dead.

"So what happened?" the girl from Eleven asked, gesturing at the cast on Isabella's leg.

"Fell off a stage," Isabella muttered.

The other girl winced sympathetically. "That's rough. What's your name?"

"Isabella."

"Cherry."

Isabella couldn't help a giggle. "Cherry? Like the fruit?"

The other girl nodded. "Cherimoya, actually. Which is also a fruit. But everyone calls me Cherry."

Isabella smiled a little and turned her attention back to the trap she was making. Why was she trying to be friendly? The two of them would be in the Games soon. They would be trying to kill each other. And it wasn't as if anyone would really want to be allies with someone who had a broken leg, would they?

Probably not. Cherry was probably just being polite. Just like her. But polite wouldn't get them anywhere once they were in the Games. Once they were in the arena, it would only get them killed.

* * *

 **Martha Cabott, 15  
** **District Nine**

None of them seemed to have anything worth stealing. Martha glanced around the training room at the other tributes, most of them already hard at work at one station or another. None of them were paying much attention to her, but none of them seemed to have brought anything valuable to the training center with them. Maybe they'd all had the sense to leave their district tokens in their rooms.

Martha shook her head and made her way over to the edible plants station, where the pair from Twelve were already busy sorting. "Mind if I join you?"

The boy shrugged and popped a few berries into his mouth. "Please. I'm Troy, and this is Emilia. And you are…?"

"Martha." She turned to Emilia. "You're the one who volunteered, right?"

Emilia's face started to turn red. "Yes. I…"

Martha smirked. "Hey, no need to explain. I'm sure things in Twelve are just as crummy as they are in Nine. Anything to get away for a little while, right?"

Emilia nodded gratefully. "I didn't think anyone would understand, really."

"Thought about volunteering myself every now and then," Martha admitted. "Never quite worked up the guts to do it, though. Guess I just don't want to die."

"I'm not planning on dying," Emilia reasoned.

Martha shrugged. "No one is. But twenty-three of us are going to, whether we're planning on it or not. That's quite a risk."

"And quite a reward, if it pays off," Emilia pointed out.

Martha smirked. "You ever think maybe the Careers have the right idea?"

Troy shook his head. "I don't think so."

Emilia turned. "And why's that?"

"Well, sure, for the one or two who actually _win_ , it's a good deal. But what about the rest of them? Training all their lives for … what? An opportunity they'll never have. Two of us get sent from Twelve every year, but it's only _those_ two whose lives are ruined."

"Some of us don't have much of a life to ruin in the first place," Martha noted.

Troy turned his attention back to the plants in front of him. "Still, it's a _life_. Not a life _I_ would have wanted to give up."

* * *

 **Ichabod Garjan, 13  
** **District Seven**

Maybe it was easier if they just stuck together for a while, Ichabod reasoned as he watched the other tributes milling about. He and Izzy had made their way over to the obstacle course, where Izzy was clambering through the branches of a makeshift tree. Ichabod was doing his best to keep up, but she was clearly faster than him.

He was used to that. His brother Marcus had always been faster than him, always been stronger, always been smarter. He was used to someone else being the best; it had never really been a problem before. But now…

Now his life depended on him being the best, on being able to defeat twenty-three other tributes. Ichabod grit his teeth and kept climbing, faster, higher, reaching for one branch after another, trying to catch up. Just when he was finally on Izzy's heels, however, a branch slipped through his fingers, sending him tumbling into the safety net below.

"Whoa, there," came a voice as a pair of hands helped him out of the net. "Take it easy. It's not all about speed."

Ichabod looked up to see the boy from Eleven smiling down at him. "Some of it is," he answered glumly. "If I'm not fast enough to get away from the Careers—"

"Then you'll just have to find some other way of avoiding them," the older boy reasoned. "What do you say we head over to the tracking station for a while?"

Ichabod could feel his face growing red. "What for?"

"Well, if you know where the other tributes _are_ , you can get out of the way _before_ they find you. Then you don't have to outrun them." He held out his hand. "What do you say?"

Ichabod nodded a little. Maybe a break from scrambling around the treetops would be good. "Thanks. I'm … I'm Ichabod. What's your name?"

The boy smiled. "Garth."

* * *

 **Emilia Rey Fumero, 14  
** **District Twelve**

Maybe Troy wasn't going to be such a good ally after all. Emilia glanced around the room at the other tributes, many of whom were already working with some sort of weapon. Troy seemed content to stay at the edible plant station all day, but Emilia was itching to move on to something else, and she could tell that Martha was, too.

But what was holding Martha back? It wasn't as if the three of them had declared some sort of an alliance. Had they? Martha was free to go whenever she wanted. And, now that they thought about it, they were, too. There was nothing saying they _had_ to stay with Troy just because he was their district partner.

Slowly, Emilia got up and made her way towards the dagger station. "Hey!" Troy called. "Wait for us!" She did, but only for a moment.

Troy and Martha quickly caught up. "Finally got tired of eating plants?" Martha joked.

Emilia nodded. "I think we all know the Games aren't really about eating plants."

"Hard to stay alive if you're not eating something," Troy reasoned.

"Hard to kill anyone if that's _all_ you're doing," Emilia shot back, and Troy's face grew even paler. He wasn't ready to think about killing – that much was obvious. But it was what they would have to do, if they wanted to make it out of the arena alive.

"Daggers seem like a pretty good choice," Martha said, changing the subject as they approached the station. "Not too small, not too large. Not heavy enough to be bulky, still small enough that you might be able to hide one, big enough for you to notice if someone tried to steal it."

Emilia nodded. _Martha_ had the right idea. She was already thinking about survival. But that just made her even more dangerous, didn't it? Did that mean that they should try to stay away from her, or that they should stay closer? For now, they could work together, but once they were in the arena, how long would that last?

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

"Anyone sitting here?" Cosima asked. The boy from Six looked up from his lunch, surprised, as if he hadn't expected anyone to come sit by him. Maybe he hadn't. After spending maybe an hour at the first aid station with his district partner, he'd moved on to the spear station and had spent the morning learning how to fashion a spear out of a stick.

"I guess not," the boy answered, shrugging.

Cosima plopped down across from him, her try bumping his a little as she took a seat. "Seems like you're pretty good with a spear."

The boy raised an eyebrow. "You were watching?"

"Of course. We volunteers have to keep an eye on each other. I'm Cosima."

"Carlisle. And I don't know why you think I volunteered, but—"

"Oh, everyone knows you volunteered to save Bertie's kid," Cosima pointed out. "Brave, really."

Carlisle shook his head. "It was stupid."

"How so?"

"If the Capitol is really that determined to get his kid into the Hunger Games, they can always reap him again next year. This was my last year. I don't know what came over me, really. I just—"

"—just acted," Cosima finished.

"Yeah."

"I did the same thing."

"You didn't know you were going to volunteer?"

"Oh, I thought about it. But up until that moment, I didn't know if I was really going to go through with it. But I did, and here I am. Here _we_ are."

"Here we are," Carlisle agreed. "What a pair."

"Would you like to be?"

"Be what?"

"A pair? Allies?"

Carlisle hesitated. "I…"

"If you don't want to, I understand," Cosima insisted. "I just thought … well, I thought the Capitol might eat it up. The outer-district volunteers teaming up to help each other."

Carlisle scoffed. "Well, if _that's_ your angle, there's someone else we should invite."

Cosima glanced over at the next table, where the tributes from Twelve were eating lunch with the girl from Nine. "I think they're already spoken for," Cosima offered. "But that doesn't mean we can't—"

"Deal," Carlisle agreed, holding out his hand.

Cosima beamed. "Really? Just like that?"

Carlisle nodded as she shook his hand. "Just like that."

* * *

 **Merric Belgrave, 18  
** **District Four**

The Career pack was already starting to come together, but Merric couldn't help but wonder about his district partner. Freya had been oddly quiet during the train ride, and hadn't seemed at all engaged during the tribute parade. Could it be that she was having second thoughts? If so, maybe it was better to know now.

None of the other Careers seemed to care. Thalia and Confidence had returned to the sword station immediately after lunch, and Deimos and Decima were busy sparring with a pair of trainers at the spear station. Merric caught Freya's eye as he wandered over towards the pair from Two. "Are you coming?"

"I'll join you in a little while," Freya nodded. "Thought I might get in a little practice with the survival stations."

Merric nodded. "I guess those are going to be useful, if…"

"If what?"

"If you're not so sure about joining the pack."

Freya blushed. "Was it that obvious?"

"Only a little. I don't think any of the others have caught on. But why would you volunteer if—"

"My mother," Freya blurted out before she could stop herself. "She's sick. She might be dying. I … I need the money so that I can save her."

Merric stopped in his tracks. "That's … that's very brave."

"It was _stupid_. Now if the Careers don't accept me, I'm on my own, and…" She shook her head. "I shouldn't have told you."

"I'm glad you did." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Look, if you don't make it, and I do … I'll make sure your mom's taken care of."

"Really?"

Merric nodded. "Really."

Freya relaxed a little. "I'd still rather win myself."

Merric smirked. "I'm sure you would." He took a few steps towards the spear station. "Good luck."

Freya nodded a little. "You, too. I mean … well, if I don't get lucky enough."

Merric nodded. It felt odd, wishing someone luck before the Games. But what else was he supposed to say? Her reason for volunteering … it was certainly as good as his. Maybe better. Maybe she even deserved it _more_. And that … that frightened him.

* * *

 **Confidence Best, 16  
** **District One**

"Well, maybe it's best that that's out in the open now," Confidence reasoned. "It gives her time to find other allies if she wants, and we haven't made any plans that she could leak to the other tributes. Good decision all around. And if she wasn't going to be any help, better not to have her with us."

The others nodded along – some more quickly than others. Merric looked a little reluctant. Was he thinking about leaving, too? Five was still a pretty good size for a Career pack, but four…

"What about you?" Deimos asked Merric, voicing what the rest of them were probably wondering. "You sticking around?"

Merric nodded. "Are you?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Merric shrugged. "It was pretty clear from the reaping you weren't your district's first choice to volunteer. Just wondering if you're planning to go off on your own like your mentor did."

"He didn't leave the pack; he was kicked out," Decima pointed out. "And as long as he's up to our standards—"

"Which I _am_ ," Deimos interrupted. "And I think most of you are smart enough to realize that you can't afford to lose anyone else." Five tributes is still a pack. Four? Maybe not. And unlike Freya, _I_ have training. Kicking me out could come back to bite you – _hard_."

Thalia nodded. "He's got a point. We're better off as a group – for now."

For now. It always came back to those two words. Any alliance in the Games – even a Career alliance – was only temporary. _Could_ only be temporary. Only one of them could make it home, and it was going to be him. It _had_ to be him. Which meant that the others were going to have to die, sooner or later.

But it would be better for him if it was later. By now, a Career pack was something the Capitol expected to see. For now, it was better to keep them around. For now, they were useful. They served a purpose. But once it came down to it, he would have to be prepared to choose his own life over any of theirs.

* * *

 **Well, despite my initial intentions, there are some alliances starting to form. How long they'll last once they're in the Games, I don't know, but it's obnoxiously hard to write tributes interacting without _some_ of them deciding it's a good idea to team up.**

 **Anyways, sorry about the gap in updates. Spring break was a bit hectic and I was fighting a bit of a cold to boot, but I should be able to get back to updating pretty regularly now.**


	19. Training Day Two - One-Eyed Royals

**Training Day Two  
** **One-Eyed Royals**

* * *

 _One-Eyed Royals: The three face cards showing only one eye; the only cards of differing rank and suit in a common deck that share an identifying trait._

* * *

 **Cherry Thatch, 16  
** **District Eleven**

At least she didn't seem to be the only one who was sticking around the same few stations. Cherry smiled as the boy from Nine joined her again at the scythe station. He'd seemed pretty handy with one the day before, but he seemed to be taking it easier today. "Decided to rest up a little before heading into the arena?" Cherry asked.

The boy nodded a little. "Something like that. You?"

Cherry shook her head. "Figured I'd better get in as much practice as I can. I mean, sure, I've used one of these before, but never really thought about using it as a _weapon_." She swung it towards the nearest dummy, slicing neatly across its stomach. If it had intestines, they would have spilled all over the floor.

The thought made her sick. What if those were _her_ intestines spilling all over the ground? What if she did that to someone _else_? She wasn't sure which thought bothered her more – the thought that she might die like that, or that she might have to _kill_ like that.

"Try not to think about it like a person," the boy suggested, as if he'd been able to tell how much the thought sickened her. "Think about it as a pile of grain that you're chopping in half."

"A pile of grain that yells and bleeds," Cherry added bitterly.

The boy shrugged. "Look, I was just trying to help."

Cherry nodded. "I know. I know. I'm sorry. It's just—"

"It's not that simple. Yeah. I know. Believe me, I'm trying to convince _myself_ as much as you," the boy assured her.

"Maybe…" Cherry hesitated. "Maybe it'd be easier if you had someone with you – to remind you."

"You, too," the boy nodded. "I'm Shasta."

"Cherry. Do you think…?"

"Allies?"

Cherry couldn't help a smile. "Really?"

Shasta nodded. "Why not? You seem like you know what you're doing with one of these, and you don't seem like the sort who would have the stomach to stab me in the back, so to speak."

Cherry looked away. He was right. Now that she had an ally, would she be able to leave him when the time came? Would he leave her first? What would happen if both of them lasted a while in the arena?

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

The audience probably wouldn't be expecting any of them to last long once they were in the arena. Izzy clapped Ichabod on the back as the three of them – she, Ichabod, and Garth – sorted the last batch of edible plants, munching on a few as the buzzer sounded. They were getting good at this, which probably meant it was time to move on to something else. The audience would be _expecting_ tributes from District Seven to be good at sorting plants, and Garth was from District Eleven. Plenty of plants there, too.

Time to move on to something they wouldn't be expecting.

Izzy nodded towards the spear station. "Let's try some of those."

Ichabod hesitated. "Are you sure? They look a bit…"

"What?" Izzy asked.

"Large?" Garth offered, and Ichabod nodded, even though she was pretty sure that wasn't what he was going to say.

Izzy giggled. "There are smaller ones. That's the nice thing about spears – if you can't get ahold of one, you can always whittle one out of a stick and make it whatever size you want. Come _on._ Let's just try it."

Reluctantly, the other two followed her over to the spear station, where the trainer couldn't help an amused smile. "Can I help you?"

Izzy shrugged. "That depends on whether you know what you're doing."

Unfazed, the trainer handed her one of the smaller spears. "I'd suggest standing with your feet a bit farther apart. Makes it easier to balance, especially if your weapon is a bit heavier than you were expe—"

Before she could finish her sentence, Izzy swung. The trainer dodged easily, then swept her own spear in front of her. Izzy jumped just in time to avoid the shaft, but the trainer swung again, this time striking her in the leg – gently, but firmly. "Maybe you wouldn't mind a few instructions before diving right in."

Izzy sighed. "All _right_. Just make it quick." It wasn't as if they had all the time in the world.

* * *

 **Carlisle Talbot, 18  
** **District Six**

Maybe teaming up with Cosima had been a good idea after all. Carlisle wiped the sweat from his forehead as he dodged the trainer's next blow, then swung again, aiming high while Cosima dove lower. The trainer dodged Cosima's blow and blocked Carlisle's, but she was beginning to tire. They were certainly doing better together than either of them would have been alone.

At the same time, that was what was beginning to worry him. They _did_ make a good team, but that sort of teamwork wouldn't last forever once they were actually in the arena. Eventually, he would be on his own – one way or another. Whether Cosima died, or left him, or whether he left her … eventually, he wouldn't be able to rely on her anymore.

Carlisle gripped his blade harder as he swung again. "Relax your grip, Six," the trainer called. "You want to _use_ the dagger, not choke the life out of it."

"I don't want to let _go_ of it," Carlisle reasoned.

"True, but the tighter you hold on, the more you grip, the tenser you are – the faster you'll tire," the trainer explained, holding up her hand for a pause. "Let go for a moment."

Slowly, Carlisle released his weapon, surprised to find that his fingers took a moment to unclench. "Harder to let go, isn't it," the trainer noted. "A split second is all an opponent might need to gain an advantage. Say you needed to quickly let go of your weapon to grab their neck – Could you do it? Or what if you were fighting near the edge of a cliff, and fell? Would you be able to grab something in time to save yourself?"

Carlisle nodded. "Point taken."

"I hope so. You never know what might save your life. Know when to hold on, Six – and when to let go."

Carlisle turned the blade over in his hand, but he couldn't shake the thought that the trainer wasn't really talking about weapons. But how was he supposed to _know_ when to let go? Would he really know before it was too late?

* * *

 **Owen Askoya, 14  
** **District Eight**

Most of them wouldn't even think about betraying an ally until it was too late. Owen scoffed as he glanced around at the little groups that were forming. The Careers had the right idea, of course – team up for survival's sake, hunt down as many tributes as they could, and turn on each other when the right time came. If he was older, maybe he would have entertained the thought of joining up with them.

But he _wasn't_ older. If he approached them and asked to join the pack, they would probably laugh in his face – and quite right, too. He just wished he could find some allies with the same _mentality_ as the Careers – just not as threatening. But everyone else seemed too soft or too energetic or too … well, too weak. His district partner had a broken leg. One of the other boys clearly had a bad back. Some of the other tributes were even younger than him.

"Are you using that?" one of the younger boys asked, motioning to the knife in front of Owen. Owen shook his head, and the boy snatched it up, whittling away at a piece of wood in his hands. "Guess what this is going to be."

Owen raised an eyebrow. "A coffin?"

"A whistle. My family didn't bring me anything for a district token, so I figured … well, why not? I'm Dexter, by the way. What's your name?"

"Owen."

"What'd you bring?"

"Nothing."

"Do you want me to make you something?"

"No!" Owen snapped, and the boy scurried off. It was the second day of training, and the boy was still blathering about district tokens? Didn't he realize that he could be _dead_ soon?

 _Any_ of them could be dead soon. Owen shook his head and turned his attention back to the knives in front of him. If there weren't any good options, maybe he was simply better off not having any allies. Tributes had won without allies before. Maybe he could, too.

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

She wasn't sure what the boy had hoped to accomplish by yelling at Dexter, but her district partner was now sulking over in the corner beside one of the food tables. That shouldn't have been her problem, really – not when either or both of them could be dead in a matter of days. But that was no reason to be unnecessarily _cruel_. The Games were cruel enough without adding to that.

Slowly, so as not to startle him, Alexia joined Dexter at the table. "I think the whistle looks great," she offered, smiling down at him. "It'll make a great district token."

"Thanks," Dexter mumbled.

"Look, I'm sure he didn't mean to snap at you," Alexia shrugged, even though she was pretty certain that he _had_. "We're all a little … tense."

Dexter crossed his arms. " _I'm_ not. Yeah, I'm scared, but that doesn't mean I have the right to snap at everyone who crosses my path. If he didn't want a district token, he could have just _said_ so."

Alexia sighed. "Look, some people just aren't thinking about being _nice_ to other people in this sort of situation. Not everyone is going to want your help all the time."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

Dexter looked up expectantly. "Do you want my help? Do you want … well, do you want to be allies?"

Alexia hesitated. "Look, Dexter, you're a nice kid…"

Dexter's face fell. "But…"

"But I have to think about what's going to help _me_ , what's going to keep _me_ alive."

"I could help keep you alive."

Alexia shook her head. "I'm sorry. But the answer is no. I don't know if I want _any_ allies, and…"

"And if you did, you still wouldn't want me," Dexter finished dejectedly. "Sorry I asked."

Alexia turned and headed back towards the shelter-building station. What had she been thinking? Talking to Dexter at all had been a mistake. She'd wanted to be kind, but this was the Hunger Games. Being kind got people killed. And that was a mistake she didn't want to make.

* * *

 **Emerson Watt, 13  
** **District Five**

"I couldn't help overhearing that." Emerson ventured a little closer to the boy from Ten. "She's right about allies needing to keep each other alive, but I think she's wrong about you."

The boy from Ten shook his head. "Don't tell me _you'd_ want me as an ally."

"Why not?"

"I…" The boy didn't seem to have an answer to that. Sure, he was young – but not any younger than she was. "I guess I didn't figure anyone would want me, after she said no."

"Sounds like you've been looking in the wrong places," Emerson offered. "If we're too young for anyone else to consider us good ally material, then maybe we should stick together and help each other. I'm Emerson."

"Dexter."

"My district partner and I have been trying out some of the smaller weapons. Want to join us?"

"Join you like…"

"Join us – like an alliance."

"Are you sure it'll be okay with him?"

Emerson shrugged. "Why not? The more, the merrier – right?" Without another word, she headed back to where Wade was waiting for her. "Wade! Hey, Wade! This is Dexter."

Wade mumbled something that was probably a greeting before turning his attention back to the slingshot in front of him. Emerson tossed Dexter a blowgun. "Try to hit that target over there. Don't worry – the darts aren't poisoned, so if you accidentally poke yourself, no harm done."

Dexter smiled. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." She picked up one of the knives and gave it a little twirl, waiting as Dexter aimed. "That's it. Now just … blow."

Dexter blew, and, sure enough, the dart went flying – right past the target, clattering to the floor. Dexter cringed, but Emerson gave him a pat on the back. "I didn't hit it on my first try, either. You just need more practice – that's all."

Dexter's face brightened a little. "Thanks for being so…" He chuckled a little. "Well, so _nice_."

Emerson smiled. There was no harm in being nice right now. Once they were in the Games, maybe things would be different, but for now … where was the harm?

* * *

 **Deimos Martel, 18  
** **District Two**

There probably wasn't any harm in getting in a little practice at the survival stations. Deimos wolfed down the last of his lunch and headed back to the training area, making his way over to the fire-starting station. It seemed like the most useful place to start at the non-weapons stations. There was usually enough food and water at the cornucopia that the Careers didn't have to go hunting for it, making the edible plants and insects stations rather unnecessary, as well as the fishing-related stations. The cornucopia usually provided shelter from the elements, as well, but making a fire could still be useful for cooking food, or for lighting torches to hunt at night – and there weren't always matches inside the cornucopia.

Even if there were, matches ran out – and they were useless if they were wet. So he took a seat beside the trainer and did his best to copy what she was doing with her pile of twigs. "What if there aren't twigs?" he asked as he placed a few more on the pile.

"Grass will do, or straw, or leaves in a pinch," she answered. "But those tend to smoke more."

Deimos nodded. Maybe that would be a problem for other tributes – tributes who didn't want to be spotted. But the Careers usually weren't particularly concerned with giving away their position. Everyone knew they tended to stay by the cornucopia, branching out every now and then to go hunting. It wasn't the most imaginative strategy, perhaps, but if it wasn't broken…

There were times, of course, when it did seem a bit broken. A bit too predictable. Sometimes the Gamemakers decided to shake things up a little bit by sending some mutts after the Careers if they got too complacent. If they wanted to avoid that, they would have to do their best to keep things interesting.

Deimos allowed himself a smile as the flames caught his tiny pile of brush. Keeping things interesting wasn't going to be the problem. The question was whether he could _survive_ keeping things interesting.

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

Maybe he had the right idea, after all. Thalia settled down by Deimos as his fire grew a little larger. "Got tired of swinging around a sword?"

Deimos chuckled a little. "Only so much they can still teach me, I guess. If I don't know my way around a weapon by now…"

Thalia nodded. "Good point." Usually, the Career pack would stick together during training, showing off a little, trying to prove to each other that they were worth keeping around. But there didn't seem to be any interest in cutting anyone else from the pack, now that Freya had removed herself from the equation. Five was still a strong Career pack, but four would be pushing their luck. Better to keep all of them around for now.

Thalia twirled a twig in her hands as the flames leapt up from Deimos' fire. It was almost beautiful, the way the light was dancing around the station. Beautiful but deadly, if the fire ever got out of control. That was the goal of the Career system, in the end – beautiful but deadly. The academies were supposed to produce tributes who were both attractive and lethal, who could both charm the sponsors and slaughter other tributes at will. That was what she was supposed to be. What she had trained for years for.

Thalia tossed the twig into the fire. That was what she _was_. What she had trained to be. And this was her chance to prove it, once and for all. If she succeeded here, if she came home a Victor, she would have all the proof anyone would ever need that _this_ was where she belonged, that _this_ was what she was meant for.

But if she failed … if she died … then none of it would matter. That was the thought that terrified her – the idea, pricking at the back of her mind, that this could all have been for nothing. That, if she died, all those years had been wasted. All those years of her _life_ would have been spent for nothing.

No. No, that wasn't an option. It _had_ to be worth it. She _had_ to win. She just had to wait a little longer.


	20. Training Day Three - Pocket Cards

**Training Day Three  
** **Pocket Cards**

* * *

 _Pocket Card: Any card that the dealer deals to the player facedown._

* * *

 **Decima Clear, 17  
** **District Two**

Just one more day of training. That was what Decima kept telling herself, every time she felt the urge to swing a weapon at one of the other tributes and just get it over with. One more day of training. Then a day of private sessions and interviews, and that would be it. They would be in the arena. In the _Games_.

She was ready, she knew. The trainers wouldn't have chosen her to volunteer if she wasn't ready. She had been ready three days ago, but maybe it was only fair to the other districts to allow them a _little_ time to prepare. Three days of training certainly wasn't going to help any of the Careers. If they weren't ready for the Games after a lifetime of training, three days weren't going to make any difference.

Most of the outer-district tributes were still training like their lives depended on it. A few of the more hesitant ones still lingered by the survival stations, but most of them had at least ventured over to the weapons stations for a while. _Good_. The better prepared the other tributes were, the more of a challenge it would be. And the greater the challenge, the sweeter her victory would taste.

Decima drummed her fingers on the table and flung another knife into the nearest target. The other Careers were getting impatient, as well, while the other tributes were growing more and more nervous with each day. Either way, the tension in the room was rising. It was only a matter of time before something snapped.

 _Not until the arena._ Once the Games began, then she could let it all go. The anger, the frustration, the emotions that had been boiling inside her for years. The emotions she always kept in check for fear of setting her mother off. She didn't have to worry about that anymore. She would never have to worry about that again. Once she was in the arena, she would finally be _free._

* * *

 **Clemence Aldrin, 14  
** **District Six**

In a few short weeks, twenty-three of them would be free. Clemence hummed quietly to herself, watching the other tributes as they continued to mill around the room. She'd been sitting at the shelter-building station for nearly an hour now, completely engrossed in her work. She'd spent the first day flitting from weapons station to weapons station before deciding that it wasn't worth the bother. She wasn't going to learn enough in three days to hold up against some of the physically stronger fighters.

So she'd spent the second day focusing on traps. That was better, but she couldn't help picturing the bodies that always came through her family's door. Limp, lifeless, cold. Was that what one of the other tributes would look like if they fell into one of her traps? Would it kill them immediately, as intended, or would it be slow? Would it hurt? Would she have to finish the job herself?

The thought made her sicker than she wanted to admit. She was used to dead bodies, yes, but _after_ they were already dead. She wasn't used to having to do the job herself. That was different. This was _all_ different – so different than what she was used to.

But wallowing in self-pity wasn't going to help. It wasn't as if any of the other tributes were killers, either. Well, except the Careers, but even _they_ hadn't killed yet. Even they probably didn't _really_ know whether they would have the stomach for it. They would just have to hope that they did – just like the rest of them.

Just like her.

Clemence swallowed hard, trying not to think about it. Trying not to imagine what it might feel like to cut into a person who was still _alive_ , rather than a dead body. Trying not to imagine the _sounds_ they might make. The screams, the cries. Trying not to imagine the _smell_. Her hands were shaking as she finished the shelter. She just wished there was somewhere she could hide from what was about to happen.

* * *

 **Shasta Evans, 17  
** **District Nine**

Maybe there wasn't even any use trying to hide the pain he was in. Shasta stretched a little, trying to find a more comfortable position as he and Cherry settled down for lunch. But it wasn't doing much good. After two and a half days of training, his body was just as sore as it would normally have been after a hard day in the fields. And if it was this bad now, he could only imagine how much worse it would get in the arena.

Here, after all, he could look forward to a nice, hot shower after training. He could look forward to a nice, comfortable bed – a soft mattress, warm sheets, and the most comfortable clothes the Capitol had to offer. It was certainly nicer than anything he'd ever had back in Nine, but also much nicer than anything he was likely to find in the arena. In the arena, he would be lucky if he found a spot to lie down for the night that wasn't completely covered in rocks, lucky if he wasn't completely exposed to the cold or the heat or rain or wind or whatever else the arena might have in store.

He hadn't really given it much thought yet – what the Gamemakers might have in mind as far as the arena. There didn't seem to be much point, really, in wondering, but now that he thought of it, he couldn't help imagining what might be coming. There was usually some sort of shelter, at least; it had been quite a few years since they'd used a desert arena that had been completely open. So there would probably be _some_ protection, but that was no guarantee.

Shasta shook his head as he filled his plate again. All the more reason to stock up on as much food and water as he could now. He might as well eat his fill, because there was no knowing when he might have the chance to do so again. No telling _if_ he would ever have the chance again.

* * *

 **Garth Kain, 15  
** **District Eleven**

Garth couldn't help a smile as Izzy finally managed to hit the trainer with her weapon. After hitting the spear station the previous day, the three of them had gotten a bit more confident, making their way from one weapons station to another, picking up what they could. And it was almost fun, in a way, to see his younger allies slowly improving. It _would_ have been fun, certainly, if it weren't for the looming reminder of what they were really practicing for.

They were practicing so they could fight for their lives. So that they would be able to kill other teenagers. Other _kids_. Ichabod and Izzy – they were so _young_. Too young to be part of this. Too young to be forced to kill for the Capitol's entertainment.

Not that there was a _good_ age to be in the Games. A good time to kill. A good time to die. Even the Careers were only seventeen or eighteen – and one of them was sixteen. Too young to die. Too young to kill.

It wasn't fair.

Garth felt a hand on his shoulder. Ichabod. "You okay?" the boy asked quietly.

Garth nodded a little. None of them were okay, but brooding about it wasn't going to change anything. "I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"About what to show the Gamemakers tomorrow," Garth lied. "Got any ideas?"

"I'm going to use a spear," Izzy piped up immediately, and Garth smiled. She'd gotten pretty good with one of the smaller spears the day before, once she'd finally settled down a little and decided to listen to the trainer.

"I think I'll use a hatchet," Ichabod decided. "I mean, that's probably what they'll expect from District Seven, right? No surprises there. Maybe I won't get a great score, but … well, higher scores get you targeted, right?"

He was right about that. Especially _suspiciously_ high scores. Everyone expected the Careers to score high, but when an outer-district tribute did the same – particularly a _younger_ outer-district tribute – it raised eyebrows. And sponsors, too, certainly, but maybe it wasn't worth the risk.

* * *

 **Dexter Guernsey, 13  
** **District Ten**

At least he had finally found some allies who appreciated him. Wade wasn't the most talkative kid – and seemed a bit grumpy when he did talk – but Emerson more than made up for her district partner's lack of conversational skills. And besides, it wasn't as if _talking_ was a necessary skill for the Games. Sure, it didn't hurt during the interviews, or with the sponsors, but it was more important to have allies that he trusted.

At least, he hoped he could trust them. As much as anyone could really trust each other in the Games. Eventually, they would all have to look out for their own interests, but it would be a while before they got to that point. Alliances sometimes lasted pretty far into the Games – particularly among outer-district tributes while the Careers were still hunting. It was good to have someone to watch your back at night and keep an eye out for the pack.

Dexter swallowed hard, trying to concentrate on the fishing line he was learning to cast. If the Careers _did_ find them, what would they really be able to do? They could run, but Careers who had been training for the Games their whole lives would almost certainly be able to outrun them. They could try to fight back, but…

But the truth was, if the Careers found them, they were probably dead. At least two of them would be dead either way, eventually. He'd been trying not to think about it, trying to focus on anything else for the last few days, but the closer they got to the Games, the harder it was getting to ignore that simple fact. He could be dead soon.

Any of them could be dead soon.

Any of them. But, by extension, that included the Careers. Careers died in the Games, too. Even the years that one of them won, the others died. All his alliance had to do was wait. All they had to do was survive long enough for the Careers to decide to turn on each other. Easier said than done, maybe, but it was the only way they would really have a chance.

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

None of them really had a chance; he had known that from the start. Even before the three of them had teamed up, none of them would have stood a chance. Now … well, an alliance of three of the youngest tributes in the arena would be easy pickings for the Career pack if they ever caught up to the three of them.

 _If_. He wished it was a matter of _if_. But really, it was only a matter of _when_. When someone found them. If not the Careers, then another group of older, stronger tributes. There certainly seemed to be plenty of those. If the Careers didn't find them, someone else would. If the Careers didn't kill them, someone else – or maybe even some _thing_ else – would do the job. None of them really had a chance.

Wade shuffled slowly after the others as they headed to another station. Emerson didn't really like to stay in one place for too long, and Dexter seemed only too happy to indulge her. And why not? There was no point in arguing about what they should be doing during training. It wasn't as if any of this was really going to help. Not as if what they learned in three days could really keep them alive when they were facing tributes who had trained for this all their lives.

"So what do you think?" Emerson asked, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Got time to fit in a few more weapons stations?"

Dexter nodded eagerly. Wade shrugged. They only had a few hours left. But they might as well put them to good use. It wasn't as if there was anything better to do. Anything else they _could_ do. They weren't allowed to return to their rooms until they were dismissed from training, and even if they could, it wasn't as if there were any better options.

They could talk to their mentor or escort, try to prepare for the interviews, but the truth was that was probably just as pointless. It wasn't as if anyone in the audience was really going to sponsor them. Not as if it would make a difference even if they did. Nothing would. Nothing at all.

* * *

 **Stanley Newton, 18  
** **District Three**

There were only a few hours of training time left, and Stanley still didn't feel confident with most of the weapons he'd tried. He'd thought that trying to organize his time and spend a few hours at every station was a good idea, but, as it turned it, a few hours wasn't really enough time to get a good grasp of _anything_. So now he was left with bits and pieces of information from pretty much every station, but no solid grasp on anything.

Great. Just great. So many of the other tributes seemed to have found their niche. Or maybe they were simply better at pretending, better at acting like they knew what they were doing. Stanley threw the fishing net he was working on to the floor in disgust. If they only had more _time_.

"Hey, that looks pretty good," came a voice from behind him. The girl from Four – the one who had left the Career pack.

"Bullshit," Stanley muttered, picking it up again. Maybe it wasn't bad for an hour or so of work, but it wouldn't hold a candle to something made by a tribute who had been doing this their whole life, like she probably had. Maybe she was trying to be kind. Or maybe she was just playing with him.

"I meant it's pretty good for someone who's probably never made a fishing net before," the girl clarified. "You're from District Three, right? Not a lot of fish there."

"Not a lot of _anything_ there," Stanley confirmed. "Nothing that's likely to be in the arena, that is. Trees. Plants. Water. It's mostly factories – factories and laboratories."

"Sounds a bit … empty."

Stanley shook his head. "Maybe. But it's home." District Three wasn't perfect, but he would give _anything_ to be back there.

The girl nodded a little. "Would you like a few pointers?"

Stanley scoffed. "Don't have anything better you could be doing?"

The girl glanced at the clock. "Not much time left, anyway. But if you don't want my help…" She turned to go.

Stanley took a step towards her. "Wait."

* * *

 **Freya Clearwater, 17  
** **District Four**

After about an hour, she and Stanley had managed to finish a passable fishing net. It wouldn't hold up under bad weather or anything, but if the weather turned bad in the arena, there would be bigger problems than not being able to catch any fish for dinner. Assuming there was a body of water to fish in at all. That wasn't a guarantee.

Then again, _nothing_ was really a guarantee in the arena. Every station during training was a gamble, not a guarantee that what they were learning would be useful. Maybe there would be trees; maybe there wouldn't. Maybe they would need to know how to build a fire, or maybe the arena would be hot enough without it. Maybe there would be water; maybe not. Nothing was certain.

But soon enough, they would know for sure – and that was even more frightening. She wasn't ready. Not really. Not as much as she'd wanted the others to think she was. She hadn't been able to fool her district partner. Hadn't been able to fool the other Careers. And she probably wasn't fooling Stanley, either. There was a reason she was here at the fishing station rather than showing off with one of the weapons. This was the part of the Games she was more comfortable with – keeping herself alive.

But she had volunteered for the _whole_ Games. For the surviving and for the killing. It was what she had to do in order to save her mother, and she had thought … she had thought she was okay with that. The tributes she might have to kill – they would have died, anyway. If she didn't kill them, someone else would. But now that they were almost in the arena…

"Do you want to work together?" Stanley asked abruptly as the last buzzer sounded, signaling the end of training.

Freya looked up, surprised. "You mean like … allies?"

"I don't think it's much of a secret that you left the other Careers," Stanley reasoned. "If you don't want to, that's fine, but—"

"No," Freya interrupted. "I do. Let's do it." She held out her hand. "Allies."

* * *

 **Well, that's training over with. Here's the current state of alliances, though they'll almost certainly start shifting once we're actually in the arena. If your tribute doesn't have an alliance - or doesn't have one _yet_ \- please don't be overly concerned. Since everything is randomly generated, I haven't planned any plot points or development around alliances. Everyone has the same chance once we're actually in the Games.**

 **Alliances have also been added to the website, and will be updated as things change.**

Thalia, Confidence, Decima, Deimos, and Merric

Martha, Emilia, and Troy

Izzy, Ichabod, and Garth

Emerson, Wade, and Dexter

Shasta and Cherry

Cosima and Carlisle

Stanley and Freya

Clemence

Isabella

Owen

Alexia


	21. Private Sessions - Expected Value

**Private Sessions  
** **Expected Value**

* * *

 _Expected Value: The long-run average value of repetitions of an experiment._

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

The Gamemakers already looked bored by the time she walked in. Cosima shook her head as she made her way over to the weapons. They'd only seen One and Two so far – and her district partner. But whatever Stanley had done couldn't have been _that_ boring, could it?

Cosima shook the thought from her head. Whatever he had done, it wasn't her problem. This was _her_ chance to show what she could do. Immediately, she reached for one of the longer daggers and began slashing away at the nearest dummy. A few of the Gamemakers turned to watch as she switched weapons, choosing a smaller sword – a rapier, she was pretty sure, was what the trainer had called it.

After that, she grabbed a few knives and slashed up a few more dummies, then used the last few minutes to sort a few plants for good measure. Maybe it wouldn't earn her a great score, but she wanted to give the impression that she could keep herself alive – not just kill other tributes. Because in the end, the Games were about both. Being able to slaughter tribute after tribute meant nothing if you accidentally ate a few poisonous berries and took yourself out of the equation.

By the time she was done, more of the Gamemakers were watching. But they still didn't look terribly impressed. Cosima shrugged as she headed for the door. Sure, she didn't have the same skills as a Career, but what did they expect? The Careers had been doing this all their lives. She'd only had a few _days_ to practice. Considering that, she had done pretty well.

Whether they agreed or not, she would find out soon enough. But maybe that didn't even matter, really. Training scores were a good way to win sponsors early on, but they could also mean getting targeted by the Careers, and that was something she definitely didn't want.

* * *

 **Merric Belgrave, 18  
** **District Four**

He'd been trying to come up with something the Gamemakers wouldn't have seen before. After thirty one Hunger Games so far, they were probably getting tired of seeing tributes walk into their private sessions and slice up a bunch of dummies. But what else were they supposed to do?

That was the question he'd been mulling over the night before, but he'd finally come up with a satisfactory answer. As soon as he walked into the room, he got to work rearranging the dummies. Positioning one here, another there, then stringing a rope around some of the equipment in just the right places.

Finally, everything was ready. Merric grabbed a spear and got to work. As he raced around the room – faster and faster – he sliced into one dummy, then another. A stab here, a slice there, moving through the makeshift obstacle course he'd constructed. Dodging equipment, ducking here, jumping over a pile of weapons there. Finally, he threw the spear, slicing through the rope he'd strung up, sending a pile of rocks tumbling onto the last of the dummies.

Only then did he glance up at the Gamemakers. A few of them were smiling. One even started clapping. Merric grinned and took a bow. If nothing else, he'd certainly made an impression. He'd gotten their interest. And that was the whole point of the private sessions – wasn't it?

Merric was still smiling as he left the room, giving Freya a thumbs-up as he passed her on her way in. She would have a lot to live up to if she expected to make an impression now. But that wasn't his problem. She wasn't part of the Career pack, so she didn't have to worry about whether the other Careers would be impressed by her score.

All she had to worry about was impressing the sponsors, and her story about volunteering to help her mother would probably be enough to gain her some sympathy in that area even if she _did_ score low. "Good luck," Merric called as the door closed behind her. A few of the other tributes looked surprised, but at least none of the other Careers had heard him, or they might have wondered if he was thinking about joining her.

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

Wade still wasn't sure what he was going to do as his name was called. Emerson gave him a confident thumbs-up, as did Dexter, but he shrugged it off. It wasn't as if any of them were going to get a high score anyway. Younger tributes usually didn't … and when they did, it tended to arouse suspicion. If the Gamemakers thought a younger tribute had a good chance in the Games, the other tributes assumed they must be hiding some sort of deadly skills.

But he wasn't. He wasn't hiding _anything_. Not much to hide, really. So as he entered the room, he headed immediately for the trap-setting materials and found a good spot. Some rope, some materials to camouflage it with, and enough equipment surrounding him to rig up a passable trap. Wade stretched a little, uncoiled some of the rope, and got to work.

It was slow going, but hopefully speed wouldn't be the most pressing matter when it came to the Games. Hopefully, he would have enough time to find a good spot and actually prepare some sort of trap. The Careers usually stayed around the cornucopia for at least a little while after the initial bloodbath, giving the other tributes the chance to spread out a little and get comfortable before they went on the hunt.

Wade laid some of the rope along the floor and started tying knots. A knot here, a knot there – enough for the trap to hold its shape. Then he started camouflaging it, humming a little while he worked. Almost forgetting about the Gamemakers watching him until one of them called out that he only had a minute left. Wade leapt to his feet, panicked. Only a minute? What was he supposed to do? The trap wasn't anywhere near done.

 _Well, crap._ He worked as long as he could, but had to stop once the Gamemakers told him his time was up. Shaking his head, Wade left the room, ignoring Emerson's smile and wave as she passed him. What was she so excited for?

* * *

 **Isabella Thatcher, 18  
** **District Eight**

It took Isabella a moment to notice the trap on the floor, but once she did, she nearly burst out laughing. She'd been worried about how she would be able to set up a complete trap in only fifteen minutes, but someone had already done most of the work for her. All she had to do was tweak a little here and there. Whoever had left it obviously knew what they were doing; they'd probably just run out of time.

But she wouldn't. Isabella used her crutches to hobble over to the station, wondering how long the trap had been lying there, untouched by the tributes coming and going. Most of them had probably chosen to demonstrate some sort of weapons skills, deciding not to bother with the trap station at all. It could have been sitting there for hours…

Isabella quickly settled down and got to work. Pulling a little rope here, tying an extra knot there, and adding a little camouflage where she could. There were still a few minutes left by the time she was done, so she headed over to the weapons stations and grabbed one of the dummies. It took her a little while to drag it over to the trap, but it was worth it. She quickly threw the dummy to the ground, springing the trap.

Immediately, the net of rope closed around the dummy, lifting it off the ground. Isabella grabbed a spear and stabbed the dummy clean through, hoping she had made her point. If she had the resources to prepare a trap, she wouldn't _have_ to win by overpowering the other tributes in a fight.

At least, that was what she was hoping. Because her chances of actually beating another tribute in a fair fight were slim at best. Isabella glanced up at the Gamemakers as she hobbled out of the room, using her crutches to bat a few stray weapons out of the way. Maybe she wouldn't get an amazing score, but at least she'd shown them that a broken leg didn't mean she was completely helpless. That had to be worth something.

* * *

 **Martha Cabott, 15  
** **District Nine**

Martha didn't even bother glancing at the survival stations as she entered the room. That wasn't what the Gamemakers wanted to see. Fire-starting, shelter-building, net-making … all of those things were good to have some experience with, but, in the end, they weren't what the Games were _about_. Tributes didn't win the Games by building shelters. They won them by killing the other tributes.

So that was what she would have to show them she could do. Martha chose a dagger and sprinted towards the nearest dummy, hacking it apart as quickly as she could before turning to the next one. And the next. Maybe there wasn't much to be said as far as technique, but after ten minutes had passed and she was still hacking, hopefully they had realized that she had the stamina to keep going.

That was when she put the second part of her plan into action. Now that some of the Gamemakers had grown bored and weren't paying attention, she started ducking towards the ground as she moved from one dummy to the next, casually picking up a few knives and tucking them in the pockets of her training outfit. Once one of the Gamemakers announced that fifteen minutes were over, she stopped, tossed the dagger to the floor, and headed for the door.

Then, on her way out, she stopped short. "Oh, wait," she remarked, and began to empty her pockets. Three knives, a slingshot, and a small blowgun – along with an assortment of rocks that had fit with the rest. She thought she heard one of the Gamemakers chuckle, but she didn't bother looking up to see which one.

Maybe some of them had noticed that she had been scooping up objects. Maybe none of them had. Hopefully, they'd gotten the point – they couldn't afford to take their eyes off her simply because her weapons skills probably weren't the most impressive. It wasn't always the most skilled tribute who won the Games. Sometimes, it was simply a tribute with a quick hand and the determination to keep going.

* * *

 **Dexter Guernsey, 13  
** **District Ten**

As he entered the room, Dexter glanced at the assortment of knives, smaller weapons, and even rocks laid in a heap near the door. What were they doing _there_? The Gamemakers seemed rather intrigued, watching closely as he entered the room. Dexter gulped. He had been expecting them to be a bit tired of watching tributes by now. He hadn't been expecting them to pay this much attention to a younger tribute from Ten.

Maybe the girl before him had done something to grab their attention. But whatever it was, they were watching _him_ now. Dexter shrugged as casually as he could, scooped up the weapons, and carried them back to their respective stations. Then he got to work.

After a few minutes of piling up twigs and starting a fire, however, he had a better idea. He took the weapons that had been in the pile by the door and stuffed them in his pockets, along with a few more knives. Then he headed for the climbing station and made his way to the highest point that he could. He glanced over at the Gamemakers, who were watching curiously.

He took out the blowgun first, using it to shoot darts at a few of the dummies from the safety of his perch. Then he began throwing the knives. From this distance, only a few of them actually hit the targets, and he only got one to stick really well. But it was something. If he was throwing knives at the other tributes, he didn't need to get lucky every time. He just needed to get lucky once.

Once he ran out of knives, he started throwing the rocks. By then, he was running out of time, but he kept going until the Gamemaker announced that his time was up. Immediately, he clambered down and put the rest of the supplies back where they had come from, cleaning up after himself and probably quite a few tributes before him. Dexter gave the Gamemakers a smile and a wave as he left. Sure, he was terrified and would be fighting for his life soon, but that was no reason to be _rude_.

* * *

 **So here's how the scores are going to work. I put 40 slips of paper with numbers in a cup. One "1", two "2"s, three "3"s, four "4"s, five each of "5"s, "6"s, "7"s, "8"s, and "9"s, four "10"s, and, just for good measure, one "11". Mostly because I wanted to err on the side of giving someone a higher score than they deserved. (Since these scores won't really determine anything and "keeping things realistic" is going out the window soon anyway, might as well make people happy.)**

 **For each tribute, I drew a number out of the cup and then put it back. To represent the built-in advantage that Careers have going into private sessions, I drew two numbers for each of the Careers and took the higher of the pair. Just wanted to let you know that if some of the scores seem a bit high next chapter ... that's why.**


	22. Training Scores - Shuffle Up

**Training Scores  
** **Shuffle Up**

* * *

 _Shuffle Up: In blackjack, the premature shuffling of cards by a dealer, used often to discourage and distract the process of card counting._

* * *

 **Decima Clear, 17  
** **District Two**

Decima and Deimos were both smiling as they settled down in front of the screen. They'd had almost the whole day since their sessions to start preparing for the interviews in the evening, and both of them were certainly ready by now. Their mentor Raiden and their escort Charity sat beside them on the couch, waiting as their host, Casca Marcus, began to announce the scores.

District One was first. "Confidence Best, with a score of eight," Casca announced as a picture of the boy appeared on the screen. "Thalia Gold, with a score of seven."

"Huh," Deimos muttered, clearly a bit surprised. Sevens and eights were certainly still respectable scores, but they were a bit low for Careers. Maybe District One wasn't as up to snuff as they'd thought.

"From District Two … Deimos Martel, with a score of nine." That was more like it. "Decima Clear, with a score of seven."

Decima shook her head. That didn't seem fair. _She_ was the tribute the academy had chosen to volunteer, while Deimos had defied the trainers' choice and volunteered anyway. _She_ should have been the one to score higher.

Beside her on the couch, Raiden simply shrugged. "I got a one, remember? Those numbers don't mean anything."

He had a point. Training scores were mostly a tool to attract sponsors, an area the Career pack usually did pretty well in without much extra help. Still, she couldn't help feeling cheated.

"From District Three … Stanley Newton, with a score of five. Cosima Byte, with a score of seven." Decima raised an eyebrow. The boy's score was about what she would expect from District Three, but what had the girl done to earn a score as good as her and Thalia? She would have to keep an eye on that one.

"From District Four … Merric Belgrave, with a score of eight. Freya Clearwater, with a score of eight." Another surprise. Since Freya had decided to split from the pack, Decima had figured she didn't have as much training as the rest of them. Maybe she had been wrong about that.

* * *

 **Carlisle Talbot, 18  
** **District Six**

So far, there hadn't been any wildly unexpected scores. Carlisle leaned back in his chair as the last of the Careers' scores flashed on the screen. The scores had seemed a bit low, but maybe everyone had just gotten used to Careers scoring high. Maybe the Gamemakers had decided to switch it up a little bit.

"From District Five … Wade Larthey, with a score of nine. Emerson Watt, with a score of nine."

Now _that_ was a surprise. Carlisle couldn't help a smile as Bertie started chuckling. "Well, I guess you should keep an eye on that little pair," his mentor offered. "No telling _what_ they've got up their sleeve."

Carlisle nodded, but Clemence was silent. The pair from Five weren't much younger than her, after all. If the Gamemakers thought Wade and Emerson had a good chance, then maybe she had scored well, too.

"From District Six … Carlisle Talbot, with a score of three. Clemence Aldrin, with a score of seven."

Carlisle gave Clemence a pat on the back, trying to smile. At least one of them had scored well. But what had he done wrong? Carlisle glanced up at Bertie, who shook his head. "I don't think it's your fault, kid. I think it has more to do with what brought you here."

Carlisle looked away. Were the Gamemakers punishing him vicariously for volunteering for Bertie's son? If they were, was that going to continue once he was actually in the arena? Would the other tributes target him because they thought that was what the Gamemakers would want, or would a lower score mean some of them might ignore him?

"Probably good and bad," Ananias offered. "You won't get a lot of sponsors, but you said you and the girl from Three had decided to be allies, right? She got a pretty good score, so that might make up for it."

Maybe he was right. But their alliance had been based on the fact that they considered themselves pretty much equals. Would that change once she saw his score? He would just have to wait and see.

* * *

 **Ichabod Garjan, 13  
** **District Seven**

Ichabod hadn't been expecting a very high score when he'd gone into his private session, but he couldn't help wondering now if maybe he'd been wrong. If the Gamemakers had given nines to both of the tributes from Five – tributes no older than him and Izzy – then maybe he had a chance at getting a good score, after all. Maybe there was nothing to worry about.

Soon, his own picture flashed on the screen. "From District Seven … Ichabod Garjan, with a score of six. The _younger_ Isabella Thatch, or Izzy, with a score of six."

"Not bad," Isadora grinned, clapping them both on the back, and Dolores nodded. Sixes were high enough to get the attention of some of the sponsors – especially given their age – but probably not high enough to paint a target on their backs, particularly considering how high some of the other tributes had been scoring. All in all, a six seemed just about right.

"Time to start thinking about how to spin that into your interview angle, then," Dolores offered. "You two decided to work together in the arena, and you just got an identical score. We can do something with that."

"We could say that if we add our two scores together, we've got a twelve," Izzy offered. "Plus whatever Garth ends up getting. That's not bad at all. And there were a few Careers who only got a seven – we're only one lower than that."

Ichabod smiled. She had a point. They were only one point lower than some of the _Careers_ – that had to count for something. Maybe the Gamemakers had really seen something in the pair of them. Or maybe the Careers this year simply weren't up to their standards. Maybe both. Either way, this was certainly a good thing. He leaned forward a little, watching the screen, waiting to see how their ally would do.

* * *

 **Owen Askoya, 14  
** **District Eight**

He wasn't particularly anxious to see how he would fare. It wasn't as if he'd found any allies, so there was no one for him to impress. No one who would kick him out of an alliance if he scored too low, or grow suspicious if he scored too high. He was already District Eight's best chance at a victor, considering his district partner's broken leg. He couldn't help wondering how _she_ would score – whether she'd managed to convince the Gamemakers that she wouldn't be dead the instant they were in the arena.

"From District Eight," Casca droned on. "Owen Askoya, with a score of seven." Not bad. A little higher than he'd been expecting, but the Gamemakers' scores seemed to be skewing a bit high this year, anyway. Only two tributes so far had scored below a six, so his seven would probably be seen as quite average. That suited him just fine.

"Isabella Thatcher – the _older_ Isabella Thatcher – with a score of eleven."

 _What?_

Owen turned to Isabella, who seemed just as shocked. "What did you _do_?" asked Woof, who was apparently just as startled, while their escort Lucky was gaping open-mouthed at Isabella.

His district partner shook her head, confused. "I … I made a trap. That's all. It was already half-finished when I got there. One of the other tributes started it, and I … I finished it. That's all. I swear that's _all_ I did."

Lucky shook his head. "Huh. Well, I don't know why that would have impressed the Gamemakers so much, but … good job."

"Yeah, it's good … except for the fact that now every tribute will assume you've been hiding something," Woof pointed out. "They may even begin to question whether your broken leg might be a ruse, whether you might not actually be hurt at all."

"That's _ridiculous_ ," Isabella insisted.

Woof shrugged. "So is an eleven. There haven't exactly been very many of those. You'll have everybody's attention now – and you'll have to figure out what you want to do with it."

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

An _eleven_. Alexia was still staring at the screen as the picture changed to the boy from Nine. What had the District Eight girl with a broken leg done to earn an _eleven_? Was she hiding something, or had the Gamemakers simply lost their marbles? Given some of the other scores, the second option was seeming more and more likely.

"From District Nine," Casca continued. "Shasta Evans, with a score of ten. Martha Cabott, with a score of six." Alexia shook her head. Neither of those was an _eleven,_ of course, but tens were practically unheard of outside of the Career pack. And none of the Careers had scored that high. What were the Gamemakers up to?

"From District Ten … Dexter Guernsey, with a score of six. Alexia Wright, with a score of eight." Alexia nodded a little. Not bad. Any other year, a thirteen-year-old scoring a six or _any_ outer-district tribute scoring an eight might have been considered unusual. Any other year, that sort of score might have put a target on her back. But _this_ year, with so many of the others scoring high, as well, it might actually help her blend in.

"From District Eleven … Garth Kain, with a score of eight. Cherimoya Thatch, with a score of ten."

Another ten. This was too ridiculous to be a coincidence. Were the Gamemakers trying to give the outer-district tributes the illusion of an advantage? Maybe that was it. Maybe the Career system had been thriving for so long now that the Gamemakers had decided to try to tilt things in the outer districts' favor.

But even that didn't really make sense. Because if _she_ was trying to give the impression that the outer districts were strong this year, she would have given higher scores to older, stronger tributes. Not the pair from Five, certainly. And not a girl with a broken leg. But what other explanation was there? Maybe the Gamemakers were simply drunk.

* * *

 **Emilia Rey Fumero, 14  
** **District Twelve**

"There must be some sort of explanation for it," Ron mused as the parade of strangely high scores continued with the girl from Eleven scoring a ten. "That's three tributes now who have scored higher than any of the Careers. Maybe they're trying to make some sort of point."

Ariel shrugged. "Or maybe they've simply lost it. Maybe they stopped paying attention after District Four and decided they should just pull numbers out of a hat."

Ron shook his head. "They wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't they?" Emilia asked. "They're getting exactly the result they wanted. Any other year, the Careers would score high, a few of the other tributes would score well, and the rest would be low to average. Nothing to talk about. But now … this is all _anyone_ is going to be talking about until the Games. They're all going to wonder how those tributes scored so high, and no one will be able to come up with a good answer, because there _isn't_ one. It's just for show. It's drama. It's exactly what they want."

As they finished, Troy's picture appeared on the screen. "From District Twelve … Troy Arrowhead, with a score of four. Emilia Fumero, with a score of six."

"Exactly," Emilia concluded. "No one's going to be talking about the two of us. Those are average numbers. Any other year, mine might be a _little_ bit high, but this year? That's just about average." A little lower, actually. They would probably be able to fly under the radar quite nicely, along with Troy. Martha had scored pretty low, as well – her six matched Emilia's and was one of the lower scores in the Games this year. No one would be paying attention to the three of them.

Maybe that was the idea. Maybe the Gamemakers were trying to make sure that certain tributes were targeted, and others were ignored. But there didn't seem to be any logical pattern to _who_ they were interested in targeting. The girl from Eleven, the boy from Nine, and the girl from Eight all had high scores, but why would the Gamemakers want to put a target on _their_ backs, along with the younger pair from Five? It didn't seem to make much sense.

* * *

 ***shrug* You were warned. In the interest of fun, the training scores have been added to the website.**


	23. Interviews - Wild Card

**Interviews  
** **Wild Card**

* * *

 _Wild Card: A playing card that can have any value, suit, color, or other property at the discretion of the player holding it._

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

At least she would get the first crack at diffusing some of the excitement caused by the high training scores awarded to some of the outer district tributes. Thalia smiled at Casca as she joined him onstage, wearing a white and pink floor-length dress, ballet slippers, and a silver tiara.

"Hello there, Thalia," Casca beamed back. "Let's get right down to it – some of those training scores earlier were surprisingly high. And some of the Careers' scores were, shall we say say…"

"Lower than expected?" Thalia finished. "I don't know about some of the other Careers, but I honestly felt like I was holding back a bit during my private session. Keeping it simply, you know? Maybe I played it a little _too_ close to the vest, but I wanted to save my best performance for the arena, if you know what I mean."

"I do, I do," Casca agreed. "That makes sense – and it goes a long way towards explaining some of the scores we saw. So do you think that's it? The Careers were playing it a little too safe, and we'll see all of you make up for it once the Games actually begin?"

"I can't speak for the others," Thalia reasoned. "But we've seen plenty of tributes with less than stellar training scores make it out of the arena victorious. Take my own mentor, for example. The very first Victor, and she got … what was it? A four in training?"

"That's a good point," Casca agreed. "And the audience certainly knows better than to count a Career out just because of a low training score."

" _Comparatively_ low," Thalia reminded him. "It might not have been my best effort, I'll admit, but a seven isn't exactly anything to laugh at."

"Of course not. Of course not," Casca assured her. "And I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say that we're looking forward to seeing how you perform in the arena. Ladies and gentlemen, let's hear it for Thalia!"

* * *

 **Stanley Newton, 18  
** **District Three**

He had to admit, that wasn't a bad way to play it. Stanley watched silently as Career after Career followed Thalia's lead – pretending that they hadn't been putting in their best effort, that they were saving all the show for the arena. Then Cosima took the stage and claimed the opposite – that the Careers this year simply weren't up to par, and that she had earned her seven just as much as they had.

It was a brave move, but he couldn't help but wonder if it might backfire and gain her nothing but the Careers' attention. But that wasn't his problem. He took the stage with a smile and a wave as soon as she was offstage, confident that Casca wouldn't even bother bringing up the five he'd gotten during training.

Sure enough, Casca's first question was about his family, instead. "So, Stanley, can you tell us a bit about what things are like back in District Three – what you're hoping to return to?"

Good. A question he would be able to answer without upsetting anyone. "Well, as you know, I'm eighteen. I _was_ planning to go to work soon. I had an apprenticeship lined up and everything. Most kids go to work a bit sooner in Three, but my grades were high enough that I was able to stay in school, and I'd just been hired as a laboratory assistant when…"

"When you ended up here, instead," Casca finished.

"Exactly. But the Games – this just opens up a different set of opportunities."

He could practically see Casca breathe a sigh of relief. "How so?"

"Well, if I win, I'll be free to pursue pretty much anything I want, without having to worry about whether it's something that I can use to provide for myself and my family. Three is somewhat … lacking in variety when it comes to jobs. There are people who work in the factories, and those who work in the labs. But as a Victor, I'll be able to go after anything I want." He smiled a little. "I just have to get there first."

* * *

 **Freya Clearwater, 17  
** **District Four**

Stanley seemed to be doing well, and the crowd, at least, was grateful that _someone_ was talking about something other than their training scores. Freya nodded as Stanley passed her on his way offstage. "I caught that," Casca noted as she took a seat next to him. "Do I sense a bit of an alliance forming?"

Freya nodded. "Once I decided to leave the Career pack, I was looking for someone who seemed competent, capable of taking care of themselves. Stanley fit the bill."

"And can you tell me more about what led you to leave the pack?" Casca prompted. "Was that your decision or theirs?"

"It was mutual," Freya admitted. "I'm not what you would consider … well, a typical Career. I haven't had as much training – though I guess you wouldn't know it from the score I got." A little laughter from the audience. "The truth is, I had a different reason for volunteering than most of them."

"And what would that be?"

"My mother is sick. Dying, we're afraid. We don't have the money for treatment – not for the kind of medicine she really needs. As a Victor, I would be able to take care of her, so … well, I decided to take a chance."

"That's quite a risk to take," Casca pointed out. "If you _aren't_ quite so lucky, what happens to your family then?"

"Then they do the best they can without me," Freya reasoned. "But I don't plan on forcing them into that situation."

"Of course you don't," Casca agreed. "I'm sure they're very proud of you. Why don't you give them a wave?" He gestured towards the nearest camera.

Freya turned towards the camera and waved a little. "Hey, everybody. Mom, Dad, Fionn, Noah … Danielle. Take care of mother until I'm back. I promise I'll be home as soon as I can." She just hoped she would be able to keep that promise.

* * *

 **Clemence Aldrin, 14  
** **District Six**

Breathe. Just breathe. In. Out. Clemence took another deep breath as the boy from five headed offstage. Now it was her turn. Her turn. She wasn't ready. What was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to talk about? She couldn't help a nervous giggle as someone gave her a nudge towards the stage. Okay. Okay, maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

Casca smiled encouragingly as she approached. "Hello there, Clemence. Are you having fun in the Capitol so far?"

Fun? What was she supposed to say to that? Was she supposed to act like she was having fun? Maybe. She grinned as broadly as she could. "Of course. It's all so exciting. The lights, the colors, the constant threat of not knowing whether I'm going to be alive tomorrow. It's so much fun."

There were a few chuckles in the audience, and Casca shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Sounds like you're rather excited to be in the arena."

Was that the impression she was giving? Good. That was good, wasn't it? "Who wouldn't be? All this waiting around – it's enough to make someone a bit anxious. Maybe it'll be better just to get it over with, one way or the other. And tomorrow … well, tomorrow we can. Tomorrow it'll all be over for some of us. Maybe for me. Maybe not. I don't know."

Great. Now she was rambling. The audience was silent, as if unsure how to respond to that. Even Casca didn't seem quite sure what to make of it. "Surely you have a plan for how you're going to handle the Games, though."

No. No, not really. She didn't have a plan. What was the point? "Not much of a plan," she admitted. "I guess I'm just going to try to make it through tomorrow, and then another day. But as far as a strategy, or allies, or … I don't know. I just don't know. I don't think any of us do, really. We don't really know what's coming – we can't. There's no way of knowing."

* * *

 **Shasta Evans, 17  
** **District Nine**

At least he had a built-in interview topic ready and waiting for him as he took the stage. Casca was almost certain to ask about the ten he'd gotten in training, so he wouldn't have to try to come up with a better angle. Carefully, trying not to look too stiff, he made his way onto the stage and lowered himself into a seat next to Casca.

It didn't do any good. "You seem a bit tense, Shasta," Casca observed. "I would think with a training score like that, you'd be able to relax a little."

Great. But at least Casca had given him an opening. "Not at all, actually," Shasta corrected. "Relaxing in the Games – that's exactly the sort of thing that will get you killed. If there's one thing I've learned from watching the Games every other year, it's that tributes who score high during training can't afford to let their guard down in the arena. Once the Games actually start, everyone knows I'm going to be a threat, so I can't afford to get complacent."

"Ah, I suppose that makes sense," Casca agreed. "Anyone in the arena who you're counting on to watch your back, so to speak?"

Shasta nodded. "Cherry and I have been working together during training."

Casca let out a whistle. "Quite the pair there, then. She scored a ten, as well, I believe."

"That she did," Shasta agreed. "Like I said, we'll work quite well together."

"For how long, I wonder."

"Pardon?"

Casca shrugged. "Well, with scores like that, how long before one of you decides that the bigger threat might not actually be the Careers? That maybe the person you need to watch out for the most is the one right next to you?"

Shasta shook his head, refusing to take the bait. That was what Casca wanted – to sow doubt in their alliance, to try to create drama between the two of them. Hopefully, Cherry would be smart enough not to take the bait, either. "Don't let those lower training scores fool you, Casca," Shasta advised. "The Careers are still a group to watch out for, and we all know it. We're not going to be fooled into ignoring them, no matter how low they aim."

* * *

 **Garth Kain, 15  
** **District Eleven**

The audience was clearly getting tired of hearing about high training scores by the time Cherry made her way off the stage. Garth let out a little sigh of relief as they started applauding for him, and Casca shook his hand warmly. "Well, Garth, I hear you're quite the celebrity back in District Eleven. Helping people get back on their feet after accidents – that sounds like quite the job."

"It is," Garth agreed. "But it's always been something I've enjoyed. Helping people realize their potential – there's a certain satisfaction to that."

"I imagine that's a hard thing to do in the Games," Casca mused.

"Maybe not as hard as you'd think," Garth reasoned. "I've got a few allies I'm going to be looking out for, and we plan to stay together as long as we can. In the end, only one of us can make it, of course, but until we get to that point … well, I'll get to keep doing what I'm good at – helping others find their potential."

Casca nodded. "I have to say, any tributes would be lucky to have you as an ally. Care to share who the lucky ones might be?"

"Ichabod and Izzy – the pair from Seven," Garth answered immediately.

"Ah, so you're looking out for the little ones," Casca observed.

Garth shrugged. "We're looking out for each other. They're quite capable of pitching in and doing their part, and I think you'll all be surprised at what we can accomplish together."

"That's the spirit!" Casca cheered. "But tell me, how long do you think this alliance of yours is going to last once you're actually in the Games? How well do you suppose you'll hold up against the Careers or some of the higher-scoring tributes?"

"I don't think there's really any way to know ahead of time," Garth admitted. "We'll do our best, of course, but everyone else in the arena is doing the same. I'll just have to hope my best is good enough."


	24. Launch - Twenty-Four

**Launch  
** **Twenty-Four**

* * *

 _Twenty-Four: An arithmetical card game in which the objective is to find a way to manipulate integers so that the end result is twenty-four._

* * *

 **Confidence Best, 16  
** **District One**

Confidence stretched a little as he made his way out of his room and to the breakfast table. This was it. The morning of the Games. He'd slept better than he'd thought he would, after the way the interviews had gone the night before. The Careers had salvaged the night as well as they could have hoped. Now they would just have to prove themselves once they were in the arena, and their training scores would quickly be forgotten.

Thalia and Artemis were already waiting at the table when he arrived. "Eat up," Artemis advised. "There's no telling when your next big meal might be."

Confidence rolled his eyes but started wolfing down his breakfast nonetheless. The Careers didn't usually have to worry much about when their next meal was going to be. They generally rationed the food that was at the cornucopia, and they were careful not to eat _too_ much at once, but it wasn't as if many Careers had ever starved to death in the Games.

Still, he ate his fill, because even if there was likely to be _enough_ food at the cornucopia, it wasn't likely to be anything this _good_. The pancakes were hot, the syrup was sweet, and the fruit was juicy and delicious. He wouldn't get another meal like this until after the Games.

But that was all right. It would be worth it. And once he'd won, he could eat like this every day, without having to worry that it might affect his training, without having to watch what he ate and when he ate it. He would be able to indulge a bit more.

Once he won.

He was still sure of that, of course. His mediocre training score hadn't been enough to shake his … well, _confidence_. This was what he'd been training all his life for, and he wasn't about to start doubting himself now. Confidence smiled as the alarm sounded, summoning all the tributes to the hovercraft pads. This was it.

* * *

 **Deimos Martel, 18  
** **District Two**

This was really it. Deimos gave Raiden one last high five as he and Decima headed for the hovercraft. He wouldn't see his mentor again until after the Games – if he won. If he didn't … well, then this was goodbye. Forever.

Deimos glanced around at the other tributes as he took his place in the hovercraft. Most of them looked scared – or if not scared, then at least nervous. Even some of his fellow Careers seemed a bit more apprehensive now that they were actually here – actually on their way to the arena. There was a certain energy inside the hovercraft – an _exciting_ sort of energy. This was real. It was really happening. He was about to be in the Games.

Deimos barely noticed as one of the technicians pricked his arm, inserting his tracker. A few of the younger tributes flinched, and the boy from Twelve whimpered a bit, but at least no one made a huge scene. If they couldn't handle a little prick in their arm, there was no way they would be able to handle the Games.

Whether any of the others could handle the Games, of course, wasn't really his problem. In fact, it was better for him if they couldn't. Better if they panicked completely and had no idea what they were doing. Still, looking around at his fellow tributes, he found he couldn't really wish that on any of them. They had to die, yes, but he could hope that their deaths were quick, painless, honorable. That was what he would want for himself, after all, if he couldn't win – a good death.

Of course, a good _life_ was better. That was what he really wanted. A good, long life after the Games, the chance to tell the story of what happened to his family, to his friends, to his children some day. Maybe even to his grandchildren.

But if he was planning to live that long, he had to make it through the next few days. And that started right here, right now. He had to focus. He had to concentrate. He couldn't let anything distract him – not now that he was so close.

* * *

 **Emerson Watt, 13  
** **District Five**

She could already tell these outfits were going to be very distracting. Emerson fiddled with the buttons on her shirt as her stylist helped her into the rest of the outfit. A plain white button-down shirt – that wasn't so bad. But they had been paired with a pair of colorful yellow overalls with brightly-colored polka-dots. Bright red shoes topped off the outfit, leaving any thought of camouflage far behind unless the entire arena was colored like this.

Emerson took a deep breath. At least there were pockets – deep pockets. Whatever she managed to grab from the bloodbath would probably fit in them without too much trouble. And at least the outfit was warm enough that she probably wouldn't freeze – unless the temperature in the arena was particularly cold.

Look on the bright side.

Keep looking on the bright side.

Okay. The shoes had good traction – that was something. She wouldn't be slipping too much. They might even be good for climbing, assuming there was anything to climb in the arena. If the other tributes' outfits were just as ridiculous, it would probably be easy to spot anyone coming. Easy to find her allies at the start of the Games. Then they would just have to make it away from the other tributes. The more dangerous tributes.

"Tributes, enter the launch pads," announced a voice. Emerson clenched her fists tightly as she took her place on the pad. A clear cylinder closed around her. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the pedestal started to rise. Up. Up.

The light was blinding – and so was the color. So many colors, and even some flashing lights. It took her a moment to realize where she was. It was a _carnival_. That explained the silly, almost clown-like outfits. There were brightly-colored tents, an assortment of games, and, off to her left, a Ferris wheel. In the distance, she thought she could hear a train, but the sound was quickly drowned out by Casca's voice. "Let the Thirty-Second Annual Hunger Games begin!"

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

The clock was already counting down. Izzy took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. _Sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight._ Where were her allies?

She saw Garth first – a few places to her left. There were three tributes between them – the girls from Three and Ten and the boy from Twelve. Not bad. Then she saw Ichabod, off to her right. Four tributes between them – two of them Careers. The boys from One and Two. But they seemed more interested in the weapons in front of the cornucopia than in a pair of younger tributes from Seven. The girl from Six and the boy from Ten probably wouldn't pose much of a threat, either.

Okay. Okay, so they could probably just run. She was in the middle, which meant the other two might run towards her. Immediately behind her was some sort of cart filled with food. Perfect! They could just grab some on the way to … where? Directly behind the cart was what seemed to be a field of corn. Maybe that would be a good place to run. It could offer some cover.

On the other hand, it might be where everyone _else_ was planning to run. Corn was food, after all. Wouldn't the other tributes want to run somewhere where they would be certain to find something to eat?

 _Fifty. Forty-nine. Forty-eight._

Ichabod was watching her. Waiting for a decision, maybe. Garth was signaling to the pair of them, then towards the corn field behind her. _Okay._ Corn it was. If all of the other tributes started running that way, they could always change their minds. As long as the three of them made it away from the bloodbath without getting attacked, they could call it a win.

Izzy scanned the area around the cornucopia for the other Careers. But they must have been on the other side of the cornucopia, because she couldn't see any but the two between her and Ichabod. She just hoped that meant they would be safe.

* * *

 **Cherry Thatch, 16  
** **District Eleven**

There were only two tributes between her and Shasta, but they were _both_ Careers. Of course they were both Careers. The girl from One and the boy from Four were watching the two of them, maybe wondering whether they were planning to run or to try and grab something from the cornucopia.

Cherry glanced at Shasta, wondering the same thing. They had been planning to try to grab a few supplies from the cornucopia before running, but that was _before_ they had both scored tens and painted targets on their backs. _Before_ the Careers had been watching them. Now … two Careers between them. And the girl from Two was only two spots to her right. Maybe it wasn't worth the risk.

Or maybe it was. Cherry glanced around as the clock continued to count down. _Forty. Thirty-nine. Thirty-eight._ What if their higher training score meant the Careers were going to come after them no matter _what_ they did? If they were going to be a target either way, it was better to have some way of defending themselves.

Because the alternative was to just run and hope that the Careers were slower, hope that something or someone in the bloodbath would slow them down a little bit. Directly behind her were some train tracks. If they could get across those, there was a Ferris wheel in the distance. Beyond that were some tents. Maybe those would provide some sort of cover.

But eventually they would need food. Would there be any in that direction? She could see some trees in the distance a bit further to her left. But what _kind_ of trees? Would there be food there, or just a lot of branches for cover? Either one could be good.

 _Thirty. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight._ As she glanced around, Shasta met her gaze. He seemed to have reached some sort of decision. She just wished she knew _what_ that decision was.

* * *

 **Troy Arrowhead, 15  
** **District Twelve**

He was beginning to regret eating so much for breakfast, because now he was pretty sure he was going to be sick. As the clock continued to count down, Troy struggled to hold his breakfast down. Just thirty more seconds. He wasn't sure whether throwing up would be enough to set his pedestal off and cause an explosion, but he certainly didn't want to find out.

Focus. Focus on something else. _Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen._ Both Martha and Emilia were to his left, with only a few tributes separating him from the two of them. They had gotten quite lucky – Martha and Emilia were right next to each other, with no Careers in the immediate area. As long as they didn't do something stupid, all three of them would probably be able to get away.

Something stupid like throwing up and exploding before the Games even started.

Stop it.

He could probably run towards them without much trouble. There was a tent nearby and, beyond the railroad tracks, some sort of building. That would probably be a good place to hide for a little while. That was all he wanted right now. To hide. Everything else could wait. Food. Water. Worrying about the Careers. He just wanted to get away.

He just wanted to be _safe_.

But even if they managed to make it to the building, they still wouldn't be safe. How long would it be before someone came hunting? How many other tributes might decide that was a good direction to run? There was no guarantee of safety, no matter which way he ran.

Calm down.

Just calm down.

But how was he supposed to calm down? Everything in the arena seemed like it was designed to make them anxious. The bright colors. The flashing lights on the tents. Even the silly outfits they had been dressed in. It was all so _active_. So colorful. So unnerving. It wasn't fair for somewhere so cheery and _alive_ to be the place where so many of them were going to die.

 _Ten. Nine. Eight._

* * *

 ***Joker voice* And here we ... go!**

 **I left a few seconds before the gong just in case someone _does_ accidentally set their pedestal off before the Games start. It could happen. I have no idea whether it's _going_ to, but it could. I have no idea whether _anyone_ is going to do whatever they were just thinking about doing.**

 **Just a few quick things. There is now a rough map of the arena up on the website, along with their positions around the cornucopia, which were (you guessed it!) randomly generated. Current alliances have been color-coded for both your convenience and mine, and ally-less tributes are in black.**

 **Since someone asked ... I'm planning to generate the whole Games and then write it rather than generate it as I go. As much fun as it would be for me to have no idea what's going to happen next, either, I decided on this route for two reasons:**

 **\- First, I haven't found a way to reliably save games on BrantSteele if I'm writing from more than one location. It seems to save things based in your IP address, because when I was away for spring break and then came home, I apparently lost all my settings and had to reconfigure everything I'd changed. Which I'm glad I found out _before_ the Games started, because if I lost my progress halfway though, instead, I'd have no way to get back to a random game I was in the middle of, and the chances of generating the exact same thing are next to none. So for my own peace of mind, I'm generating the whole thing at once.**

 **\- Second, I think it'll let me write a slightly more coherent story. If someone needs to die of an infection or bleed out from untreated injuries, I'd like to know a little in advance so I can make sure they _get_ infected or _get_ injured. If someone is supposed to kill another tribute with a specific weapon, I need to make sure they _get_ that specific weapon at some point. And so on.**

 **On that note ... I'm off to find out how this is going to work.**

 **This is so exciting!**


	25. Bloodbath - All In

**Bloodbath  
** **All In**

* * *

 _All In: Fully committed to or involved in something. In poker, to go all in is to bet everything on a hand._

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

 _Three. Two. One._

As soon as the gong sounded, Izzy turned and ran. Away from the cornucopia, away from what was about to happen. Away from the weapons, the supplies, and most importantly, the _Careers_. It wasn't until she was well past the cart of food that she remembered she'd meant to grab something. _Crap._

But she certainly wasn't going to go back and get anything now. Whatever else she needed could wait until later. Right now, she just wanted to get away. She just wanted to get to safety.

Behind her, she could hear noises. Fighting. A scream, and some sort of … explosion? Maybe. She didn't want to turn and look. She just wanted to get away. As far away as she could. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, sprinting towards the field of corn. It hadn't looked this far away before.

Maybe that was a good thing. It would put more distance between her and the Careers once she finally reached it. And it would give Garth and Ichabod a chance to catch up. Garth had been motioning towards the corn field when they were on their pedestals. That meant he'd wanted to run this way. Didn't it?

But where _was_ he? Where was Ichabod? Izzy fought back a churning in the pit of her stomach. She had left them. She had left them _both_ – both of her allies. They were still back there somewhere. Had she left them to die?

* * *

 **Decima Clear, 17  
** **District Two**

 _Three. Two. One._

As soon as the gong sounded, Decima took off towards the nearest tribute – the little girl from Five. She didn't need a weapon to handle a little kid, even if she _had_ gotten a higher training score. As soon as she got her hands around the girl's scrawny little neck, she could choke the life out of her and _then_ go get a weapon.

The girl from Five took off immediately when she saw Decima coming towards her. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit," she muttered as she ran. She had a bit of a head start, but Decima was faster. It was only a matter of time before she caught up.

Suddenly, Decima heard something off to her left. A train, coming down the tracks ahead of her. The little girl saw it, too, and immediately bolted towards the tracks. _Good_. Whether she ended up choking the girl to death or whether the kid ended up splattered on the front of a train didn't make much difference to her. There was no _way_ she was going to make it over the train tracks in time.

The train rumbled closer. Closer. The younger girl reached the tracks and threw herself across, screaming. Decima stopped short, he train blowing her hair back and forth as it rumbled past. _Shit._ The little girl had made it, and now she had no choice but to wait for the train to pass. She couldn't go back to the bloodbath _now_. Not without something to show for it. She would just have to wait.

* * *

 **Emerson Watt, 13  
** **District Five**

She certainly wasn't going to wait around and see whether the girl from Two was going to keep up the chase. Emerson immediately bolted towards the carousel in the distance, then veered sharply towards the left and into a brightly-colored tent. No. No, that wasn't a good idea. If the girl was still following her and couldn't see her, that was the first place she would look. She had to get farther away.

But if she kept going, how were the others supposed to find her? Wade and Dexter – how was she supposed to find them? How would they know which way she had gone?

Stop it. None of that _mattered_ if she got herself killed trying to wait for them. She would just have to find them later. Later. Right now, she had to get away. She had to get somewhere _safe_.

The train was still rumbling behind her. That meant the girl couldn't see her yet. If only she wasn't wearing something so ridiculously bright. Even in this colorful arena, their outfits would stand out. She just needed something else – something that would blend in.

But she didn't have time to look for something. Emerson glanced around frantically for a moment before zigzagging her way back towards the carousel. Maybe there would be something useful there. Maybe the train would be longer than she thought, and the girl from Two would decide it wasn't worth it to stick around and wait to catch up with her. Maybe she would get lucky. Maybe.

* * *

 **Owen Askoya, 14  
** **District Eight**

 _Three. Two. One._

As soon as the gong sounded, Owen bolted forward. He had to get a weapon – that was the first order of business. Anything else could wait. He had to have a way to defend himself if someone attacked. And it was only a matter of time before _someone_ attacked.

But that didn't mean he was in a position to be choosy. Owen reached down and grabbed the first weapon he found – a dagger that was lying nearby on the ground. That would have to do for now. Maybe it wasn't much, but it would probably be enough to deter any of the other tributes from attacking him.

A quick glance around the cornucopia told him it was time to run. He wasn't going to be able to get much closer to the supplies at the center without drawing attention to himself. Better to run. He took off towards the edge of the cornucopia, but, as he ran, he spotted a boy. A boy still standing on his pedestal, staring in horror at what was happening in front of him.

Easy pickings. There wasn't much near the boy – just a few colorful baseballs and bottles of water strewn about the ground. But that would be enough. He could swing by, kill the boy, and grab a few of the water bottles on his way away from the cornucopia. That would be good enough.

* * *

 **Troy Arrowhead, 15  
** **District Twelve**

The boy was running towards _him_! Troy took a step back, startled, as the boy from Eight ran closer and closer. What was he supposed to do? Would he be able to outrun him? Panicked, Troy reached down and picked up one of the nearby baseballs, which was colored a bright red. He didn't have to hurt the boy. All he had to do was distract him enough to give himself a head start.

Troy heaved the ball as hard as he could in the boy's direction. The boy, startled, didn't have time to dodge as the ball hit him squarely in the chest.

 _Crack!_

The sound that ripped through the air caught Troy completely off-guard as something came flying towards him. Something warm and wet and sticky. Blood. Blood from the boy he had hit with the ball. The boy who had been standing maybe twenty feet away from him.

The boy who _wasn't_ standing there anymore.

It took him a moment to put the pieces together. The ball – it hadn't been an ordinary baseball. Some sort of explosive, maybe. He hadn't known. He hadn't. He never would have. He hadn't meant to…

Troy doubled over, collapsing to the ground as his stomach churned, lurched, and vomit spewed from his mouth. He hadn't meant to kill the boy. He hadn't meant to kill _anyone._

Suddenly, a hand grabbed him. Pulled him to his feet. "Get _up_ ," insisted a voice, dragging him away from the bloodbath. Emilia? No, the voice wasn't quite theirs. Martha? But when Troy looked up, it wasn't either of his allies who was looking back down at him, pulling him away to safety.

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

The boy obviously hadn't meant to _kill_ anyone. Alexia pulled him a little farther before he finally staggered to his feet and started moving under his own power. Maybe it was stupid – pulling him away from the bloodbath. But she couldn't just _leave_ him there, puking, to be killed by whoever happened to find him next.

She'd been passing his way, anyway, after grabbing a trident, a pair of daggers, and a backpack that she could only hope contained something useful. Not bad, all things considered. And now she had … what? An ally? She seemed to remember he'd been working with his district partner, along with the girl from Nine.

But where were they? Clearly, none of them had bothered to find where _he_ was before getting themselves away from the bloodbath. He was probably better off with her. And _she_ was probably better off with him than by herself. Whether he'd meant to or not, he'd killed a boy. The first kill of the Hunger Games. That had to count for something with the sponsors.

"Troy," the boy gasped as the pair of them made their way away from the bloodbath. "My name … my name is Troy."

"Good for you. I'm Alexia. Now let's get _out_ of here." She gave him another tug in the right direction – towards a tent in the distance. Hopefully, that would be enough shelter to keep anyone else from coming after them.

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Cosima gasped for breath as the explosion on the other side of the cornucopia shook the air. She shouldn't have run into the bloodbath. What was she _doing_ here? But it was too late to turn and run the other way now. She would just have to hope she could make it to the cornucopia. Just a little farther…

As quickly as she could, she ducked inside. Weapons. There were plenty of weapons. But that wasn't what she wanted now. She just wanted to _hide_.

Racing to the back of the cornucopia, she ducked down as low as she could. "Quiet," hissed a voice, and Cosima nearly screamed. There was someone already there! A boy – one of the younger boys. District Ten, she was pretty sure. Maybe he'd had the same thought she had – that they could wait out the bloodbath and then run away with a weapon or two and some supplies when there was a break in the action.

Just then, a shadow appeared at the mouth of the cornucopia. One of the Careers. The boy from District Four. Cosima froze, gripping the nearest thing she could find – a long, thin spear. "Don't come any closer," she hissed, positioning herself between him and the younger boy. "Just take what you want and leave."

The boy held up his hands. "I didn't come to take anything." He took a few steps closer, glancing frantically at the mouth of the cornucopia. "I came to join you. Get back down. Come on. Just duck."

She did, still gripping the spear tightly as he joined them at the back of the cornucopia. What was he _doing_? He was a Career. He was supposed to be out _there_ , killing other tributes, not hiding in the cornucopia with the two of them. What was he thinking?

* * *

 **Isabella Thatcher, 18  
** **District Eight**

She wasn't going to win any races if someone decided to come after her, so Isabella figured she might as well gather what she could. Once the gong rang, she used one of her crutches to slide a bottle over towards her, and scooped it up along with a nearby rag. She quickly stuffed the pair of items in one of her pockets. Maybe it wasn't much, but at least she wouldn't be walking away from the bloodbath empty-handed.

Suddenly, some sort of explosion echoed through the air. Isabella looked up in time to see what was left of her district partner splattering all over the boy from Twelve. _Well, shit._ She and Owen hadn't been particularly close, but she _had_ been hoping that if she didn't make it, maybe District Eight would still have a shot at bringing home a Victor. In fact, most people had probably assumed that _he_ was their best shot at bringing home a winner.

Anyone who had made that assumption had clearly been mistaken. Not that she was going to do much better if she didn't get out of here – and _quickly_. Isabella turned and swung her crutches away from the cornucopia, moving as quickly as she could. Which wasn't particularly quickly, but no one seemed interested in coming after her.

* * *

 **Martha Cabott, 15  
** **District Nine**

There was no way she was leaving the cornucopia empty-handed – not when Troy had already picked up a kill. Sure, he hadn't _meant_ to kill the boy from Eight, but whether he'd meant to or not wouldn't matter to the sponsors. It would only matter that he had killed, and she hadn't. But if she wasn't going to get a kill this early on, she could at least gather some supplies. And there was a bag not too far away…

Just as she reached it, however, another hand reached down to grab the bag. The boy from Seven – one of the younger ones. Martha couldn't help a smile. She could handle _him_. She gripped the bag tightly, wrenching it from his grasp and swinging it around again, smacking him hard. Whatever was in the bag was pretty heavy; the boy stumbled backwards a little.

Right into the girl from One.

The girl from One chuckled a little, then swung her blade across the boy's chest. He staggered backwards, bleeding, as the girl from One advanced on Martha. _Shit_. There wasn't any time to run as the blade swung towards her. All she could do was swing the backpack again, hoping whatever was inside would be able to deflect the blade.

It did – but only once. The pack went flying from her hand as the blade swung again – this time connecting with her chest. Martha crumpled to the ground, clutching her chest, as if that would somehow keep it from bleeding. But there was nothing she could do to stop the sword as it came swinging down towards her neck.

* * *

 **Ichabod Garjan, 13  
** **District Seven**

This wasn't how things were supposed to happen. Ichabod gasped for air as he lay writhing on the ground, grasping at his chest, trying to stop the bleeding. They were supposed to _help_ each other. Protect each other. Izzy and Garth – they were supposed to help him.

Where were they?

He hoped they were safe. He hoped they had made it away. It was too late for him – the amount of blood on the ground was enough to tell him that. It was warm and sticky, but he was already growing cold. Was that what blood loss felt like? All the warmth just draining out of you?

Maybe. Maybe that wasn't so bad. It meant the pain would be over soon – that was something. He hadn't expected it to be so … so _quick._ Everything was growing dark even before he closed his eyes. Even before he felt the sword stab through him one more time. A noise escaped his lips, but it was barely a gasp. Certainly not a scream. He didn't have the energy left to scream.

He was just so tired…

* * *

 **Emilia Rey Fumero, 14  
** **District Twelve**

There was nothing they could do for Martha. Not now. Out of the corner of their eye, they could see Troy, still standing, shell-shocked, puking his guts out until the girl from Ten came to drag him away. For a moment, Emilia considered running after them. But what good would that do? Troy was obviously out of it. Martha was dead.

They needed a new plan.

They'd already been running towards the cornucopia when they'd noticed Martha fighting the boy from Seven. Quickly, they reached for the first thing they could grab – a shield leaning against the side of the cornucopia. Emilia quickly grabbed it, then scooped up a backpack and ran as quickly as they could. Back towards the outer edge of the fighting. Back towards safety.

Safety. As if anywhere was really safe. But there _was_ one person most of the others seemed to be ignoring. Emilia slowed down a little as they fell into stride with the girl from Eight. "Mind if I join you?" they asked casually.

The girl wouldn't say no. _Couldn't_ say no. She had probably been assuming that no one would want an alliance with her because of her broken leg, but apparently no one wanted to _attack_ her for the same reason. High training scores were completely forgotten now that they were actually in the Games; the other tributes only saw a cripple. Someone they could deal with later.

Emilia gripped the shield they'd grabbed. A part of them didn't like the idea of taking advantage of that. Of taking advantage of another _person_. It made them a little sick just thinking about it like that. But not sick enough to reconsider.

* * *

 **Confidence Best, 16  
** **District One**

The two little twerps were already dead. Confidence let out a snort as he saw the blood on Thalia's katana. She had _two_ kills already, while he hadn't even picked up _one_. He swung the flail he'd snatched from the mouth of the cornucopia, running in the direction of the boy from Eleven.

But the girl from Six reached the boy first, shoving a backpack into his arms and pulling him away from the bloodbath. For a moment, Confidence considered chasing them, but they were already too far away. They already had too much of a head start.

"Looks like it's two to none," Thalia smirked as he joined her. Confidence rolled his eyes. Let her brag for now. The Games weren't decided based on who picked up the most kills during the bloodbath. Between the two of them, the audience would at least know that they were better than their training scores had indicated. For now, that would have to be good enough.

* * *

 **Clemence Aldrin, 14  
** **District Six**

"Why did you do that?" the boy gasped as they ran, swinging the backpack she'd shoved into his hands over his back. She was already wearing a second one that she'd grabbed from near the cornucopia. "Why did you help me?"

"Why not?" Clemence asked, shrugging. She didn't really have a better answer. They didn't really know each other. They certainly weren't allies. She didn't even know his _name_. But he had just been standing there, watching. Watching as one of his allies had been killed. Maybe he'd wanted to die, too. But if he'd wanted to be killed, he could simply have stayed there. He didn't have to follow her.

Unless he thought he was protecting her now. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. She'd thought about trying to find an ally or two during training, but none of them had ever seemed quite right. Not that this boy seemed right, either. If he couldn't even pull himself together enough to run away from the bloodbath on his own, was he really going to be able to help her?

But he _had_ run away. He'd just needed a little push first. Clemence took a deep breath. It couldn't hurt to introduce herself. "I'm Clemence."

"Garth."

"Want to stay together for a little while?"

* * *

 **Garth Kain, 15  
** **District Eleven**

Part of him wanted to say yes. It wasn't as if he was going to be able to meet up with his allies. Ichabod was dead. And Izzy … he was pretty sure she had run towards the corn field in the distance. He could probably head back in that direction once things calmed down a bit. But how could he tell her? How could he explain that he'd simply stood there, watching helplessly, while the girl from One had _killed_ Ichabod.

He hadn't done anything. He'd wanted to. He'd wanted to sprint over to his friend, grab a weapon, and defend him with his own life. But by the time it was clear that Ichabod was in danger, he'd been too far away. He hadn't moved quickly enough.

He hadn't even _tried._ He'd been frozen, scared stiff, until the moment Clemence had shoved a backpack into his hands. If she hadn't done that, he would probably still be standing there.

No. No, he wouldn't be standing there. He would be _dead_. Maybe he _should_ have been dead. Maybe it would be better for everyone if he'd died along with Ichabod. Garth swallowed hard. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to say that he would stay with Clemence, that he would help her. Maybe even that he would protect her, the way he hadn't been able to protect Ichabod.

But he couldn't. Because he knew the truth. The truth was, he would do exactly the same thing if she was in danger. He would freeze. He would panic. He wouldn't be able to help her. So maybe it was better not to bother pretending otherwise. Garth shook his head and, without another word, broke off and headed off to the right. Clemence didn't follow.

Part of him wished she had.

* * *

 **Freya Clearwater, 17  
** **District Four**

It was too late to go back now. Too late to turn around and run now that she was already halfway to the cornucopia. Freya glanced down, spotting a backpack almost directly in front of her now. That would be good enough.

Just as she reached for the bag, however, so did another tribute. Freya glanced up, startled, at the boy from Six. He grabbed one strap of the bag just as she grabbed another. He pulled – _hard_ – dragging her towards him. She ducked as he swung a fist towards her face.

Not worth it. She let go, and he stumbled backwards, surprised at the sudden jolt. Before he could react, Freya ran, scooping up a small bottle of water on the way. Get out. Just get out. She could worry about supplies later. She had a little water. Right now, her next priority was to get to safety.

Safety. Right. She could see a few bushes in the distance; that would have to be good enough for now. Freya glanced around as she ran. Where had Stanley gone?

* * *

 **Stanley Newton, 18  
** **District Three**

He'd lost track of Freya when she'd decided to run towards the cornucopia. Maybe she'd decided that her training score was high enough to prove that she was a Career, after all, and she might as well act like one. He certainly wasn't waiting around to see if she was up to the task. He'd grabbed a nearby canteen of water and then run like hell.

Stanley finally slowed down a little as he neared a set of railroad tracks. Did that make him a coward? Maybe it did. But if being a coward was what it took to keep him alive – if it meant that he got away from the bloodbath unharmed – then maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Right now, he had no idea whether his ally was alive or not. But _he_ was alive.

And right now, that was all that mattered.

* * *

 **Carlisle Talbot, 18  
** **District Six**

All that mattered was that he was safe. He was alive. Carlisle gripped the bag he had grabbed as he fled from the cornucopia, stopping only once to grab a small sickle that lay in his path. He hadn't seen Cosima since the gong had sounded, but he couldn't worry about that right now. Once he was safely away from the other tributes – safely away from the _Careers_ – then he could worry about finding his ally.

 _If_ she was still alive. He could only hope that she was. Carlisle sprinted as quickly as he could towards the building in the distance. It seemed to lie at the end of the train tracks that lay in his path. Maybe some sort of train station. Yes, that was what it looked like from here. Maybe Cosima would be able to figure out that that's where he was heading. District Six. Train stations. It made sense.

Or, at least, he hoped it made sense. As much sense as anything was likely to make now. And if she didn't find him … well, at least he had enough supplies to be able to make it on his own for a while. Assuming there was something useful in the bag he was carrying. It certainly felt heavy enough to be holding a good amount of supplies. And a sickle might not have been his first choice of weapon, but it would do. It was good enough.

It would have to be good enough. He certainly wasn't going back into the bloodbath to try to find something better. Maybe once the Careers had left, he could try to sneak back to get a few more supplies, but for now, he would have to make do with what he had. For now, he could just count himself lucky to have made it out of the bloodbath alive.

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

He was seriously beginning to doubt whether he was going to make it out of the bloodbath alive. Wade glanced around frantically as two tributes approached. Once Emerson had taken off, trying to outrun the girl from Two, he'd decided he might as well try to get some supplies while one of the Careers was distracted.

Unfortuantely, one of the two boys approaching him now was a Career. The boy from Two. Maybe it was poetic – the pair from Two finishing off the pair from Five. Wade reached down and grabbed the nearest thing he could reach – a backpack. Not much as far as defending himself, but maybe it would do him some good.

Wade's mind raced. The other boy near him was the boy from Nine. As quickly as he could, Wade tossed the backpack to him, hoping that might be enough to give the Career pause. Maybe he would think that the two of them were working together. Maybe he would think he was outnumbered. Maybe.

The Career reached down, picking up something from the ground. A coil of rope. Wade froze for a moment. What was he planning to do with that? But, to his surprise, the boy tossed the rope to _him._ Without thinking, Wade immediately took off. What might have possessed the Career to toss him supplies instead of trying to kill him, he wasn't entirely sure, but he certainly wasn't going to argue with a stroke of good luck.

Beside him, he could see the boy from Nine running, as well, the backpack Wade had tossed him still clutched tightly in his arms even as he reached down to pick up another one. Wade couldn't help a small smile as the pair of them ran. Maybe things were going to work out after all.

* * *

 **Shasta Evans, 17  
** **District Nine**

That certainly wasn't how he'd been expecting that to go. Not that he was complaining. Shasta slowed down a little as soon as he and the younger boy were a safe distance away from the bloodbath. "Thanks," he gasped. "I don't know what made you throw me this backpack, and I don't know what that Career was thinking, but … nice work." He tossed one of the backpacks to the younger boy. "I think you deserve this."

The boy hesitated. "Why don't we see what's inside them, and then split whatever's there?"

Shasta nodded. That seemed a bit more fair. Together, he and the younger boy opened the packs and spread the contents on the ground. There were three bottles of water, an assortment of crackers and nuts, two knives, and the coil of rope. Shasta watched as the younger boy split up the supplies, careful to give them each an equal amount of crackers and nuts, as well as one of the knives. "What should we do with the rope?" he asked. "Do you want to split it, or…"

"You can have it," Shasta suggested. "He tossed it to you, after all."

The younger boy nodded. "Then you can have the extra bottle of water."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." He hurriedly packed up his share of the supplies. "Good luck."

"You, too." Shasta hesitated, then called after the younger boy. "What's your name?"

"Wade."

"I'm Shasta."

"Hope I don't see you around, Shasta!" the boy called as he hurried off.

Shasta chuckled a little as the boy disappeared into the distance. "Same to you."

* * *

 **Deimos Martel, 18  
** **District Two**

He still wasn't sure what had come over him. Deimos shook his head as he hurried off in the last direction he'd seen Decima. The younger boy had caught him off guard – that was all. He'd expected him to reach for a weapon or something – not throw a backpack. But why the hell had he tossed him the coil of rope?

Deimos shook the thought from his head. It didn't matter now. It was too late to go after the pair of them, even if he'd wanted to. Right now, his concern was his district partner. She'd run off after the girl from Five, but she'd been gone far too long. It shouldn't have taken her that long to catch and kill a little girl.

Unless the kid really _did_ have something up her sleeve. She was one of the ones who had scored high during training, after all. Come to think of it, so were the two boys who he had just let escape. Maybe that was why he hadn't wanted to fight both of them. But he hadn't really been _afraid._ He just hadn't _wanted_ to.

It wasn't worth it. Not at the moment. Not when he had bigger things to take care of. If Decima needed his help, he couldn't afford to waste any more time. If something had happened to her, she might need him – even if she wouldn't want to admit it. That was a good enough reason to leave the two boys well enough alone. He just wished it didn't sound like he was making excuses.

* * *

 **Cherry Thatch, 16  
** **District Eleven**

She just wished she had some idea of where Shasta had ended up. She had thought he was going to run away, but then he had run towards the cornucopia, and she … she had just run. Off to her right, away from the bloodbath. Away from _him_. She hoped he was okay, but…

But even if he was, would he really be looking for her? She had abandoned him, left him to fend for himself. That wasn't what allies were supposed to do. But she had been _afraid_. She hadn't wanted to risk her life rushing into the bloodbath like he had. They could always find supplies later.

Cherry slowed down a little as she neared what appeared to be a railroad station. She could always find him later, if he was still alive. And if he wasn't … well, then maybe it was better that she had left while she could. Despite her high training score – and his – she wasn't exactly eager to get into a fight with the Careers. Or any of the other tributes, for that matter. She just wanted to find somewhere safe. Somewhere where she could rest for a while.

But not for too long. It was only a matter of time before the Careers would come hunting. They rarely stayed around the cornucopia for long after the bloodbath. The audience expected them to hunt, to keep the Games moving, to keep things interesting. She would just have to hope they decided to head off in some other direction.

* * *

 **Merric Belgrave, 18  
** **District Four**

Things were beginning to quiet down outside the cornucopia. Merric stood up slowly, then put a finger to his lips and motioned to the other two to lie still. Then he banged the spear he had grabbed against the wall of the cornucopia before heading out to join the others. "I got two!" he called. "They were hiding inside the cornucopia!" He tossed the spear back inside the cornucopia, hiding the fact that there wasn't a drop of blood on it. "The girl from Three and the boy from Ten. Thought they could wait out the bloodbath inside the cornucopia. Not a bad plan, if I hadn't found them."

Thalia and Confidence were still a good distance away from the cornucopia. "Great!" Thalia called, beaming. "I got two, too."

Confidence rolled his eyes. "It's still early."

"Fair enough," Merric agreed. "How many others?"

Thalia shrugged. "The boy from Twelve killed the boy from Eight. It looks like that's pretty much it."

Merric nodded. A small bloodbath – especially considering he wasn't telling the truth. He'd been hoping that there would be a few more dead to account for. As it was, as soon as the cannons sounded, the other two would know he was lying. He would just have to hope they would have a chance to escape before then.

* * *

 **Dexter Guernsey, 13  
** **District Ten**

He and Cosima glanced at each other, waiting as the Careers outside the cornucopia continued to discuss how many of them were dead. He still wasn't sure why the boy from Four hadn't killed them, but he wasn't about to complain. He just hoped they would have a chance to make it away from the cornucopia before—

 _Boom._ The sound of a cannon broke his train of thought. "Now," he whispered to Cosima, and the pair of them took off running. The pair of tributes from One were facing the other way. He would just have to hope it took them a little while to realize.

 _Boom._ A second cannon. Dexter held his breath, trying desperately not to make too much noise as he and Cosima ran. They split up as soon as they could, Cosima heading off to the left as he veered off to the right.

 _Boom_. A third cannon. Three tributes dead. But that was all. He and Cosima were still alive. But it was only a matter of time before the other Careers realized that the boy from Four hadn't killed them. That he had let them live, let them _escape._ Dexter still wasn't sure _why_ , but maybe it didn't matter why. Maybe all that mattered was that somehow, for some reason, he had gotten lucky.

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

Three cannons. Thalia raised an eyebrow and glanced around. Only three cannons. "Are you sure those two are dead?" Merric asked, confused. Thalia nodded. She had stabbed one of the younger tributes through the chest and sliced off the other's head. But if the ones _she_ had killed were dead…

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, something caught her attention. A figure running away in from the cornucopia. The girl from … what? Three? And not quite as far away, the boy from Ten, sprinting in another direction. Thalia whirled around to face Merric, only to find that he, too, was gone – running off to the south, towards the corn field in the distance.

"Damn it," Thalia muttered, grabbing a few of the knives that lay nearby. All three of them were too far away to catch up with now, but that didn't mean that they were out of range. She would have preferred a bow, but she hadn't found one outside the cornucopia, and by the time she checked inside, they would be too far away.

She threw a knife at Merric first, but he was already too far away to hit. But the other boy – the younger one – was beginning to slow down. Maybe he thought he was safe. Maybe he was getting tired. Either way, she raced towards him, knives in hand. All she needed was one good shot. Just one.

The first knife missed him by a hair. He whirled around, startled, and then began running faster. She would only get one more chance. Thalia stopped. Aimed. Let the knife loose. It struck the boy in the leg, bringing him to his knees. That was all she needed. Thalia raced towards where the boy lay, scrambling to his feet – but not quickly enough. This was going to be all too easy.

* * *

 **Whew. And that's the bloodbath. So one of the things I didn't think all the way through when deciding to randomize my story like this was the fact that this particular simulator gives each tribute one thing to do during each day and night. Since everyone is doing _something_ , that means everyone got a point of view ... which is going to, by extension, make these chapters longer than the previous ones - at least until the number of tributes starts to drop off a bit.**

 **Speaking of tributes dropping off, here's how things stand so far...**

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **Thank you so much to their submitters! All three of these would likely have lasted longer if not for the more random nature of this story, as I was enjoying all three and looking forward to seeing where they would go. Unfortunately, the odds were not in their favor, and this is where they ended up.**

 **Little summaries of each chapter will be posted on the website - basically I just screenshotted the generator I'm using - and the tribute pages and map will be updated regularly.**


	26. Day One - Beginner's Luck

**Day One  
** **Beginner's Luck**

* * *

 _Beginner's Luck: Good luck supposedly experienced by a beginner at a particular activity._

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

It wouldn't take long to finish the boy off. He was stumbling forward in the direction of the corn field despite the knife in his leg, but she was quickly gaining ground. At least he'd been smart enough not to pull the knife out – that would only make him bleed faster. But it wasn't going to make much of a difference once she caught up to him.

A kick to the back of the knees quickly brought the boy to the ground. Thalia's knees pressed into his chest as she knelt on top of him, drawing another knife. "Please," the boy gasped. "Please, just let me go."

Thalia scoffed. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I can help you," the boy sputtered. "Look at your alliance. It's falling apart. Wouldn't you like to get the boy from Four? He let us go, you know – me and the girl from Three. It's his fault if the Careers are seen as weak."

"And you expect me to believe _you_ can help me kill him?"

The boy nodded desperately. "I know where he's going. I can find him and then give you a signal. Set a fire or something. Or maybe even kill him myself. He'll trust me. If he sees you, he'll run, but me? I'm not threatening. I'm not a threat to _you_. If you let me go, you've lost nothing. You've already got two kills, and you can always find me again later. Just let me go for now. Please."

Thalia hesitated. There was something in his voice. Something in his _eyes_. He was so young, so eager. He almost reminded her of her younger sister, Crystal. He was about her age. Thirteen. So young.

And he was right. She had already killed two tributes – one of them no older than him. The audience had no reason to doubt that she _could_ kill him, if she wanted. And if he was right about leading her to Merric…

* * *

 **Dexter Guernsey, 13  
** **District Ten**

Dexter held his breath as the girl hesitated. He hadn't really expected this to work, hadn't really expected to be able to stall _this_ long. She looked like she was really considering it. Really thinking about letting him go. Dexter waited one moment. Then another. He opened his mouth to say something, but he didn't dare. The wrong words now might get him killed.

Instead, he watched silently as the girl stood up again, as she took the suspenders from her silly arena outfit, quickly yanked the knife from his leg, and wrapped the suspenders around the wound. As she bent down, something metal brushed up against the wound in his leg – a locket around her neck. Then she handed him the knife, smiling a little. "Find the boy from Four and … you'll know what to do."

Dexter nodded gratefully as she took a step back, letting him stand up. "Thank you. Thank you so much. You won't regret this." And before she could change her mind, he turned and ran as fast as he could, ignoring the pain in his leg. That could wait until later. Later, he could try to bandage it a little better. Later. Right now, he just wanted to get as far away from the cornucopia as he could.

Dexter gasped for breath as he ran. That was twice now. _Two_ Careers who'd had the chance to kill him but had let him go, instead. But _why_? Were they just that certain that they would be able to find him and kill him later, that he didn't really pose much of a threat? Maybe. Maybe that would be enough to keep him alive. It had certainly worked so far.

* * *

 **Confidence Best, 16  
** **District One**

Had all of the other Careers gone mad? Confidence shook his head as Thalia joined him back at the cornucopia. "You let him _go_?" Not only had Merric run off, but Decima and Deimos were nowhere to be seen. And now his own district partner had let the little boy from Ten just run away. What was she _thinking_?

But Thalia simply smiled. " _Relax_ , Confidence. He won't get too far. He offered to lead me to where he thinks Merric is, and then he's going to light a signal fire or kill him. And if he doesn't, he won't last long anyway. I got him with this." She held up a small locket of some sort.

Confidence raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"My district token. I laced the edges with poison. A little of this in his wound, and it's only a matter of time."

"How much time?"

"Depends on the dosage. Maybe a day or two. Long enough to find Merric for us, and then…"

Confidence shook his head. "I still think you should've killed him while you had the chance."

"I didn't see _you_ kill him," Thalia pointed out.

Confidence felt his face growing red. The worst part was, she was _right_. But he hadn't run after the boy because he'd figured she could handle it on her own. Confidence shook his head, storming off away from the cornucopia in the direction the boy and Merric had run. He would show her. He would show _all_ of them.

* * *

 **Decima Clear, 17  
** **District Two**

She hated the thought of going back to the cornucopia with nothing to show for her effort, but she'd already been gone over an hour, at least. And she was still no closer to finding the girl from Five. She seemed to have simply disappeared.

Decima was about to turn around and head back when she saw something. Something in a white shirt and yellow polka-dotted pants off in the distance by the Ferris wheel, bent over as if catching their breath. That _had_ to be her. She must have stopped for a break. Decima grinned. It was the last mistake she would ever make.

Just as she reached the hunched-over figure, however, it turned and stood up straight. It was taller than the girl from Five, but that wasn't what caught Decima's attention. It was its _face_ , a plain white with red cheeks and eyes that seemed to be glowing. A mutt. Some sort of mutt designed to look like a clown.

Decima reached for a weapon, only to remember she'd run after the girl without one. She'd assumed that she could take on a little kid without a weapon, but she hadn't counted on taking on _mutts_. Decima grabbed the nearest thing she could find – a brightly-colored hammer from one of the nearby carts.

But that mutt wasn't deterred. It lunged at her, and she barely managed to duck in time. Then she saw another clown, coming at her from off to the side. _Shit_. This wasn't what she'd signed up for. She'd wanted to fight _tributes,_ not mutant clowns. Decima took off running back towards the cornucopia. The girl from Five would just have to wait.

* * *

 **Emerson Watt, 13  
** **District Five**

Yes! Emerson grinned and held back a whoop as the girl from Two went running back towards the cornucopia. All she had to do was wait for the mutts to leave, and she would be home free. Emerson started climbing down from her perch in one of the Ferris wheel's capsules. Satisfied for the moment, the mutts began to disperse. She had gotten lucky.

 _This_ time, at least. She just hoped Wade and Dexter had been as lucky. In the chaos at the start of the bloodbath, she hadn't had time to watch where they were going. She'd been too worried about the girl trying to kill her. But maybe they'd gotten away, too. After all, if _she_ had escaped, then they could, too. If _she_ had gotten lucky, maybe they'd had the same luck.

Emerson took one final hop to the ground, stretching her legs. It had been a little cramped in the capsule, but it had been worth it. Just as her feet touched the ground, however, she saw something in the distance – something she was pretty certain wasn't a mutt. Another tribute, moving towards her. But from this distance, looking into the sun, she couldn't quite tell _who_.

Whoever it was, they had a weapon. A spear. Emerson ducked behind the Ferris wheel. Maybe she should run. But what if it was Wade or Dexter? The tribute looked a little taller than them, but from this distance, she couldn't be sure. And she didn't want to run off again and abandon them unless she was _certain_ that the tribute wasn't one of her allies.

* * *

 **Deimos Martel, 18  
** **District Two**

The girl was just standing there. Deimos gripped his spear as he made his way closer to the girl. He had the advantage; he was approaching from the west. With the sun in her eyes, maybe she couldn't tell exactly who he was. Maybe she was waiting to see if he was one of her allies. She had some, he knew. The boy from her district, as well as the boy from Ten. If she was hoping to find them, though, she was sorely mistaken.

Realization dawned on her face as he got closer, but not quickly enough. As she made a move to run, something blocked her path. A mutt. She turned back towards him, maybe hoping to dart past him and back towards the cornucopia. Back towards her allies. Deimos lunged, his spear swiping across her legs, bringing her to the ground.

The girl let out a scream as his spear came down again, piercing through her shoulder, pinning her to the ground. Deimos knelt down by her side as her eyes darted frantically back and forth, hoping for someone to save her. Hoping for something to happen.

Just as he was reaching for his spear again, however, something struck him in the back. Pain coursed through him just below his shoulder blades as he looked down. Something was sticking out of his chest. A blade – a dagger. He turned, startled, to see the boy from Eleven standing behind him. "Leave her _alone_ ," the boy growled, pulling the dagger out again.

Deimos couldn't help a laugh. He was done for. But he could still take them with him. He tore the spear out of the girl's chest and lunged. The boy dodged, throwing himself forward, and Deimos took a step out of the way. The boy toppled onto the girl, his dagger piercing through her chest as Deimos' spear flew towards him, striking him in the arm. Deimos sank to the ground, smiling a little. This wasn't quite how he'd expected things to end, but at least it had been fun…

* * *

 **Garth Kain, 15  
** **District Eleven**

What had he done? Garth rolled over slowly, pulling the other boy's spear out of his arm, which immediately started bleeding. _Shit_. But what else was he supposed to do? He couldn't exactly walk around with a spear in his arm. The boy's cannon sounded, but the girl … was she still alive? His own dagger was lodged deep in her chest – an accident. He hadn't meant to stab her. He hadn't meant to hurt anyone.

Except … he _had_ meant to hurt the boy. But only because he'd been attacking the girl. He'd only wanted the boy to stop. He hadn't been able to stop a Career from killing Ichabod. And now he'd failed again. The girl coughed a little, her eyes fluttering open. "Wade?"

Garth swallowed hard, tears coming to his eyes. He wasn't Wade. But maybe the girl couldn't tell the difference. Maybe she was too far gone to care. "I'm here." He took her hand. "It's okay. You're going to be okay." He hated lying, but the truth was worse. She was going to die. It was only a matter of time. Minutes, at most. But he couldn't tell her that. He couldn't…

The girl smiled a little, her eyes closing again. Her hand went limp in his, and her cannon sounded. Garth stared. She was gone. Just like that, she was gone. He couldn't save her. He couldn't save _anyone_. He probably wouldn't even be able to save himself.

Garth clenched his fists. He could try. He pulled his dagger from the girl's chest and used it to slice a few strips of fabric from the boy's shirt. Then he bandaged his arm as well as he could and stumbled off the way he had come. Away from the boy. Away from the girl. Away from everyone. Everyone he had killed.

* * *

 **Shasta Evans, 17  
** **District Nine**

 _Boom._ Shasta flinched as another cannon fired – the second in a row. That was five cannons so far. Five tributes dead. And he was still alive.

And he meant to stay that way. Shasta adjusted his backpack as he kept moving, making his way towards the tree in the distance. Maybe there was some sort of fruit; there certainly seemed to be _something_ hanging off the tree. As he got closer, he could see they were apples, but they seemed to be covered in something. Something sticky.

Shasta smiled when he realized what it was. Caramel. They were caramel apples. And enough of them were hanging from branches low enough for him to reach them. Quickly, he opened his backpack and gathered as many apples as he could. He already had the crackers and nuts that he and Wade had divided up; between that and these apples, he would have plenty of food to last a while.

As he was zipping the backpack up again, however, something dropped out of the tree, landing squarely at his feet. Shasta nearly screamed as he leapt backwards, away from the snake that immediately lunged towards him. As quickly as he could, he raced in the opposite direction, towards the Ferris wheel. He leapt into the first capsule he saw, but the wheel refused to move, and the snake was still slithering towards him.

He would have to climb. Shasta made his way to the top of the capsule, slinging the backpack over his back again. He gripped the rod the capsule was hanging from as tightly as he could and hoisted himself up. Up. There were enough bars to climb, and the snake didn't seem interested in trying to slither its way up the slippery poles. Shasta reached for one bar, then another, his back protesting as he climbed towards a higher capsule.

With one last effort, he swung himself inside, gasping, trying not to scream. His back felt as if it were on fire, but at least he was safe. For now, at least. Unless anything _else_ came after him.

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

At least she'd had the sense to run towards the corn field. She would have plenty to eat while waiting for her allies to catch up. Izzy plucked another ear of corn from its stalk and stuffed it in her pocket. The corn wasn't quite ripe, but it would certainly do for now. That, along with the flowers she'd found, had been enough to make her wait a little more bearable.

But only a little. Izzy bent down to pick up another flower, wondering if maybe those would be edible, too. Maybe they would add some flavor to the corn. But she didn't want to risk it – not without knowing for certain what the flower was. Still, it was pretty. It was a good distraction. A good distraction from the five cannons she'd heard so far.

 _Don't think about it._ If Ichabod and Garth were still alive, they would find her. If not … she would think of something else. She could make it on her own. She had food. The corn was moist enough to keep her hydrated for a while, which would give her time to find water. And as far as allies … would they even _want_ to find her now? She had left them. Abandoned them. Would they even be looking for her?

Suddenly, she heard something – some sort of rustling in the corn. Izzy froze. There had at least appeared to be a clear path through the corn field. A maze of sorts. Which had been good as far as not making noise, but it also meant there wasn't much room to run without attracting attention. If she tried to leave without following the same path, she would make too much noise. Whoever was nearby would notice her.

Suddenly, a boy burst through the corn, stumbling a little as he ran. When he saw her, he took a step back, nearly tripping over the corn stalks behind him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to find you. I can … I can leave."

"Wait," Izzy called before he could go. "You're Dexter, right?"

"Yeah."

"Izzy. What happened to your allies?"

Dexter shook his head. "I … I don't know. They ran, and I was hiding in the cornucopia with the girl from Three and the boy from Four. I tried to run, but the girl from One caught me, but then she let me go and … I don't even know anymore."

Izzy took a step towards him. "You can stay with me, if you want. I don't know where my allies are, either."

Dexter looked away. "Your district partner, right?"

"And the boy from Eleven." But the look on his face told her it was Ichabod he knew something about. "Is he … is he dead?"

Dexter nodded. "Your district partner, yes. The girl from One got him. I just got lucky, I guess." He hesitated. "Do you still want me to stay?"

Izzy nodded. "Absolutely."

* * *

 **Merric Belgrave, 18  
** **District Four**

All he had to do was stay still. Just a little longer. Merric held his breath, positioned just inside the corn maze as Confidence passed by, no more than a hundred yards away. He was still headed south; maybe he figured Merric had been heading for the hill in the distance, where there seemed to be some sort of water. But Merric hadn't been thinking about water – or even food. He'd just wanted somewhere to hide. And a field of corn – a _maze_ of corn, really – seemed like a better hiding place than a hill.

Merric clenched his fists, almost reaching for the knife he'd stuffed in his pocket while he was hiding in the cornucopia. He should have grabbed something more. But he hadn't been counting on leaving his allies so soon. He hadn't been counting on leaving his allies _at all_.

What had he been thinking?

There hadn't been much of a choice, though, after he'd let the other two tributes live. If he'd stayed, Confidence and Thalia would have assumed he'd gone soft. Maybe he _had_ gone soft. He'd had the chance to kill both of the other tributes. It would have been easy. He could have done it. Any of the other Careers _would_ have done it.

But he hadn't.

Merric breathed a sigh of relief as Confidence disappeared into the distance. Slowly, he made his way a little farther into the maze. He could hear voices. Two voices, from the sound of it. "Hello?" Merric called softly. Quietly. So as not to startle them.

"Who's there?" one of the voices demanded. "We're armed!"

"I have a knife," the other voice hissed. "What do you have?"

"Corn?"

Merric chuckled a little and stepped out into the open. "Relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

The boy _did_ seem to relax as he realized who Merric was. "You. You let me go. Why?"

Merric smiled. "Why not?"

"That's not an answer."

Merric shrugged. "Yes, it is. It's just not the answer you expected. There's a difference." He took a step towards the boy. "What happened to your leg?"

"The girl from One."

"Thalia?"

"She could have killed me. But I asked her to let me live so I could kill you, instead."

"And are you going to try?" Merric tried to hide the amusement in his voice.

The boy shook his head. "I just wanted to get away from her. And from the look of it, so did you."

Merric nodded. "Fair enough." He broke an ear of corn off the nearest stalk. "Mind if I join you?"

* * *

 **Clemence Aldrin, 14  
** **District Six**

Clemence breathed a sigh of relief as she finally reached the train station. From the tracks outside, at least, that was certainly what it appeared to be. From the look of it, though, it was empty. There certainly weren't any controls for the train or anything that might be useful. But it was as good a place as any to settle down and see what was in the backpack she'd managed to grab before running.

Clemence settled down in a corner and opened the bag. Inside were two empty canteens, some rope, a box of matches, and a thin blanket. Not bad. She'd been hoping for some sort of weapon, but, in a pinch, a rope could be a weapon. That would have to do for now. She certainly wasn't heading back to the cornucopia any time soon.

Clemence quickly repacked her bag and shoved it behind her in the corner. She had thought for a moment that she heard something. Some sort of footsteps. Had someone gotten here before her? There were stairs leading up – maybe to another floor of the building. Maybe she should investigate…

Before she could, however, someone stumbled through the door, gasping for breath. The boy from Three. Clemence froze. Maybe he wouldn't notice her. But his eyes immediately found the corner where she was resting. "Well, shit," the boy muttered. "So much for this place being deserted."

Clemence shrugged. "There's plenty of room."

The boy almost laughed. "That's very kind … but no. If _you_ thought this was a good place to hide and _I_ thought this was a good place to hide, there's no telling how many other tributes might be headed this way. And some of them might not be so hospitable." He shook his head. "If I were you, I wouldn't stay too long." And without another word, he turned and headed out the door.

* * *

 **Carlisle Talbot, 18  
** **District Six**

Maybe the boy from Three had the right idea. Carlisle leaned back against the wall of the train station, trying not to make any noise. He'd headed upstairs immediately after entering the building. Clemence probably didn't even know he was here. But now there was no way to leave without letting her know exactly where he was – not unless he planned on jumping out the window.

And that certainly didn't sound like a good plan. Maybe she would take the other boy's advice and leave. But if she decided to stay, it was only a matter of time before she decided to explore upstairs. Just because she had been polite to the boy from Three didn't mean that she would extend the same courtesy to him, even if they _were_ district partners. In the end, they were competition – that was all.

Carlisle glanced at the sickle that lay on the floor – the sickle he had grabbed from the bloodbath, along with the backpack that lay beside him. To his disappointment, the backpack had been almost completely empty. The canteen he'd found inside was empty, and its only other contents had been a small knife. Which was good to have, certainly, but not as good as the sickle he already had, anyway.

Still, he'd made it away from the cornucopia alive, which was more than could be said for some of the others. There had been five cannons so far – three at the start and two only shortly after. Five tributes dead, and he was still alive. And so was Clemence. Not a bad start for District Six. But if he was planning on going home, he would have to do better than "not a bad start."

* * *

 **Stanley Newton, 18  
** **District Three**

He had to admit, the girl's offer had been tempting. The train station had seemed like a pretty safe place to stay – but apparently he hadn't been the only one with that idea. And if two of them had decided it was a good place to hide, chances were good that other tributes would be heading that way.

Maybe Freya would be heading this way. He had no way of knowing where his ally was, or even if she was still alive, but if she was … was this where she would go? Maybe. Maybe he should have taken the girl up on her offer to stay. Maybe he should just stay in the area. Now that he made his away around to the other side of the station, there seemed to be some sort of pond. Water. _Perfect_.

Suddenly, Stanley froze. He'd been right about this being a popular place to run. Near the pond was a group of trees, and by the trees was a girl. The girl from Eleven. She was picking … were those apples? They certainly looked like it. Water, and now food. A little beyond the trees was a field of corn. He'd hit the jackpot.

The catch, of course, was there were at least two other tributes in the area. But the girl from Six hadn't seemed to have any interest in harming him. And the girl from Eleven didn't appear to be armed. Stanley took a cautious step towards her, trying not to draw too much attention. He didn't want to scare her. Just because she didn't seem to be armed didn't mean there wasn't a weapon in her pocket or something. She could be hiding a knife. Or maybe she'd stashed some supplies behind the tree.

Stanley took another step towards the pond. "Good day for a swim?" the girl called with a smile. Stanley froze. So much for not being noticed.

* * *

 **Cherry Thatch, 16  
** **District Eleven**

At least the boy didn't seem eager to start a fight. Cherry held up her hands, careful to show him that the only thing she was holding was one of the caramel apples she'd been picking. She'd been stuffing the others into her pockets, but she'd been planning to find a place to hide them over by the pond once she had enough. She held out one of the apples. "Want one?"

The boy took a step closer, hesitant. "You sure?"

Cherry shrugged. "There are plenty of them here. Plenty for us to share, and then some. What's the harm?"

"And you're sure they're not poisoned or anything?"

Cherry reached down and picked up the core of the apple she'd already eaten. "Well, if they are, I'm probably dead already, so I might as well eat my fill."

That seemed to be enough to convince the boy, who nodded. Cherry tossed him the apple, and the pair of them headed over towards the duck pond. "I'm Cherry," she offered.

"Stanley. You expecting anyone else?"

"Well, the pair from Six is holed up in the train station, but from the look of it, neither of them is interested in coming after anyone else just yet."

"The pair from Six? I only saw the girl."

"Pretty sure I saw both of them heading in," Cherry shrugged. "Definitely saw both of them running this way. Other than them, no, I haven't seen anyone."

"What about your allies?"

Cherry smirked. "What about _yours_?"

The boy nodded. "Touche. I was working with Freya, but I haven't seen her since the bloodbath. You?"

"Shasta, the boy from Nine. Haven't seen him, either … but I didn't stick around long. I just ran. He could be anywhere. He could be dead, and I wouldn't know."

Stanley broke a few branches off one of the trees before sinking down beside the pond. "Looks like we're in the same boat." He tossed her one of the branches. "Here."

"What's this for?"

"Well, unless you picked up some sort of weapon before you ran, we'll need a way to defend ourselves. If we sharpen these, we'll have at least some sort of sp—"

"We?"

"I … I mean, if you _want_ to. If you don't, I understand. There's plenty of room for us to spread out, but … well, safety in numbers, right?"

Cherry nodded. "Right."

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

At least he wasn't going to die of thirst any time soon. Between the bottle of water in his pack and the pond in front of him, he would have enough to last the whole Games. Wade sank down beside the pond, smiling a little. Maybe this wasn't so bad. All he had to do was wait here for Emerson and Dexter, and…

Right. Like they were really going to find him here. Emerson had run immediately from the bloodbath, and Dexter … he had no way of knowing where Dexter was. Chances were, he was on his own now – at least for a little while. Wade leaned back against one of the nearby rocks. Maybe he should have asked the boy from Nine for an alliance when he'd had the chance.

But would he really have said yes? Sure, Wade had gotten a nine in training, but that didn't change the fact that he was twelve. The fact that he was from District Five. That despite what the Gamemakers might have wanted the other tributes to think, he didn't really have any particularly useful skills. He was just a kid from District Five. He was in _way_ over his head.

Unfortunately, he didn't have any choice in the matter. None of them did. Even the nutjobs who'd volunteered for this didn't have any say in whether they wanted to keep going once they were actually in the arena. They were stuck here now, just like him.

Slowly, Wade stood up. He could see a tree in the distance, and a few bushes. It was probably going to get cold in the arena once the sun went down, so if he was going to collect wood for a fire, now would probably be as good a time as any. Maybe he could even manage to catch some fish from the pond.

First things first. He took the knife out of his pack and stuck it in his pocket. At least he had _some_ way of defending himself if someone found him. No, _when_ someone found him. It was only a matter of time. He just hoped it wouldn't be anytime soon.

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

Cosima just hoped the voices weren't as nearby as they sounded. She could hear two of them now – a boy and a girl. They seemed to be coming from off to her left, inside the corn field nearby. Cosima shook her head. As long as they _stayed_ there, they were fine. As long as they left her alone.

She hadn't actually _seen_ anyone since the bloodbath. Not since the boy from Four had let them go. She'd run as fast as she could towards the corn field in the distance. West of the corn field, though, there seemed to be a building. That would probably be a better place to spend the night than a field of corn. But she'd wanted to collect a little food first.

Maybe corn wasn't much, but it was something. It was enough for now. While she had been hiding in the cornucopia, she'd stuffed a few bottles of water in her pockets, so at least she wouldn't starve, and she wouldn't die of thirst. That was something.

Not much, but something.

"I think there's someone over there," one of the voices in the field hissed.

Crap. They'd seen her. "Shh," the other voice cautioned. "Maybe it was just the wind."

Cosima couldn't help a smile. They didn't want to find her any more than she wanted to find there. As quietly as she could, she picked a few more ears of corn and then headed west towards the building. If they didn't want a fight, she certainly wasn't going to give them one.

* * *

 **Troy Arrowhead, 15  
** **District Twelve**

Apparently, the other tribute hadn't wanted a fight, either. And that was just fine by him. He'd already killed one boy today. One person he hadn't meant to kill, hadn't _wanted_ to kill. He certainly wasn't ready to kill anyone else.

Maybe he _could._ Alexia had given him one of the daggers she'd snagged during the bloodbath, although she'd kept the trident for herself. Not that he'd wanted it. He was more interested in the corn around them. It was sweet and juicy. Not as good as the Capitol food, maybe, but certainly better than what they usually had in District Twelve.

"Maybe we should have done something," Alexia muttered as she picked another ear.

Troy looked up. "Like what?"

"If there was only one person … well, I'm armed. You're armed. We could probably have handled them."

 _Handled them._ She meant killed them. They could probably have killed the other tribute. The thought made him sick, but he did his best not to show it. "Probably," he agreed, trying to sound casual about it. "But we'll get another chance. They probably didn't go far."

Alexia nodded. "That's true. And you've already shown the audience that you have what it takes. You got the first kill, after all."

 _Don't remind me._ That was what he wanted to say. But he couldn't. Not when the cameras were watching him, waiting to see how he would react, whether he had the stomach to deal with what he had done.

He didn't. But he could pretend. "Don't worry. You'll get your chance." He clapped Alexia on the back. "For now, we should probably figure out where we want to settle down for the night." The sun was only just starting to sink a little lower, but hopefully she would take the hint that he wanted to change the subject. He didn't even want to _think_ about what he had done. He certainly didn't want to talk about it.

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

Troy obviously didn't want to talk about what had happened during the bloodbath. Alexia nodded a little and backed off the topic. If he would rather talk about where to spend the night, that was fine. It _was_ getting late in the afternoon. School would probably be out by now. She would be heading home. If she _was_ back home. Alexia gripped her trident tightly. She would give _anything_ to be back in District Ten, fretting over homework deadlines and running herself ragged trying to manage her classes. She'd thought _that_ was stressful. Now she just wanted to get back to her old life. Back _home_.

But in order for that to happen, eighteen more people – eighteen more _kids_ would have to die. There had been five cannons already. One for the boy Troy had killed. Two more during the bloodbath, and two soon after. Five tributes dead – a bit low for the first day, but that didn't change what would have to happen in the end. Whether they died now or in a week or two, everyone else would have to die if she wanted to make it back to District Ten.

And that included Troy. Alexia glanced over at her new ally as they made their way towards the tent in the distance. That was why she hadn't wanted allies in the first place. She hadn't wanted to get attached to someone who would have to die anyway. But now … now, she was just glad she wasn't alone. That she had _someone_ with her, if only for a little while.

* * *

 **Isabella Thatcher, 18  
** **District Eight**

"What's _that_ supposed to be?" Emilia asked as the two of them approached what looked like a hill. The sun was starting to sink a little lower behind the corn field, but they could still see well enough to tell that the hill wasn't really a hill. It was some sort of … some sort of _slide_. Water was running up and down it, and were those … logs? Some sort of hollowed-out logs moved along the track, splashing to the ground every now and then, spewing water everywhere.

Isabella shrugged. "It's water. That's good enough for me."

"Fair enough," Emilia agreed as the pair approached one of the calmer parts of the slide. "Well, that's water taken care of," they reasoned. "Let's see what else we've got."

We. Isabella smiled as the two of them settled down next to the water. Emilia slung the backpack they'd grabbed off their shoulders. It certainly _looked_ like it was stuffed full of supplies, which was probably why they'd grabbed it. But as Emilia swung it around, it also looked suspiciously light.

Sure enough, when Emilia opened the bag, the only thing inside was a large, fluffy blanket. "Damn it," Emilia muttered. "What are we supposed to do with _that_?"

"Sleep in it?" Isabella offered.

Emilia rolled their eyes. "Well, yeah. But we can't _eat_ it. I figured we'd have enough supplies that we wouldn't have to worry about food for a while, but now…"

Isabella shrugged. "We'll just have to look for some. We've got a while yet before sunset. And we've already got water. Things aren't completely hopeless."

* * *

 **Emilia Rey Fumero, 14  
** **District Twelve**

Yeah. Things weren't completely hopeless. They just had no food, no supplies aside from this silly blanket and the bottle of alcohol and rag that Isabella had snatched. Well, that and the shield they'd taken from the bloodbath. But they couldn't _eat_ any of that. And they were starting to get hungry.

"Look, we could always try the corn field," Isabella offered. "It's not that far away."

Emilia nodded. She was right about it being close by, but they'd seen a _lot_ of tributes heading that way. That was why they'd decided to avoid it in the first place. "Let's have a look around here first," they suggested. There are some bushes over there, and a few trees farther that way."

Isabella nodded. "Great. I'll check the bushes. You check the trees. I know they're a little bit farther, but—"

"But if there's something high in the branches, you can't exactly climb," Emilia finished.

"Exactly."

"Fair enough." They tucked the backpack under the shield and hid it under a corner of the slide. "Let's go." For a moment, they thought about taking the backpack and shield with them, instead, but if they came across another tribute … well, maybe the shield would be useful, but the backpack would just draw more attention than they wanted. If someone needed a blanket that badly, they could have it. It wasn't worth getting themselves killed over.

* * *

 **Freya Clearwater, 17  
** **District Four**

It probably wasn't worth investigating the smoke in the distance. Freya shook her head as she settled down in the small shelter beside the pond. It was little more than a roof, really, sheltering a single picnic table. But at least it was something. And it wasn't as likely to attract the attention of the other tributes.

That clearly wasn't something that the person who had lit a fire was thinking about. Whoever they were, they were on the other side of the pond. So maybe they would draw the attention of any other tributes who happened to be in the area. Maybe they would draw the Careers to _that_ side of the pond.

That felt awful – hoping for the Careers to find someone _else_. But she certainly didn't want them to find _her._ Freya leaned back against the table as the sun continued to sink lower in the sky. She'd found a few candy apples in a nearby tree, but someone had apparently picked most of the ones that were closer to the ground. Maybe tomorrow she could venture a little higher into the trees. For now, she would have to make do with what she had.

What she had. At least she was still alive. She had some food. She had a good supply of water nearby. She wasn't armed, but she could worry about that later. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she could worry about food, about weapons, about finding some better supplies. For now, she was simply grateful to be alive.

Because there were five tributes who hadn't been so lucky. Five tributes who were already dead. There were only nineteen of them left in the arena. Not much of a total for the first day, maybe, but that was five tributes she had already outlasted. Five tributes who wouldn't kill her.

Five tributes _she_ wouldn't have to kill.

Freya closed her eyes. Stop thinking about that. She had made it out of the bloodbath without having to kill, after all. She'd fought with the boy from Six over that bag, but, in the end, she'd decided to let him have it. It hadn't been worth the fight. Maybe that had been the right choice. Maybe not. Maybe she wouldn't be here if she'd made a different decision. Maybe she was just lucky that he hadn't decided to come after her after she'd let go.

Freya froze as the Capitol anthem began to play. She had been wondering, ever since the bloodbath, what had happened to Stanley. Was he still alive? They hadn't been working long together during training, but she'd been hoping to have _someone_ with her in the arena. Now that she was on her own…

Not yet. She didn't know that yet. Maybe he was still alive. Maybe he would still find her – or maybe she would find him. In a few moments, she would at least know whether that was still a possibility. Then she could worry about what to do next.

* * *

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.**

 **20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.**


	27. Night One - Play the Rush

**Night One  
** **Play the Rush**

* * *

 _Play the Rush: To become more loose and aggressive after a streak of wins._

* * *

 **Merric Belgrave, 18  
** **District Four**

Merric, Dexter, and Izzy looked up as the Capitol anthem began to play. To Merric's surprise, Deimos' face was the first to appear in the sky. "Huh," Merric muttered. He wasn't at all surprised that Thalia and Confidence were still alive, of course, but Deimos … He'd expected Deimos to last longer than that. Then again, he'd expected to stay with the pack a while longer, and here he was sitting in a corn field with two of the youngest tributes in the arena. So the Games weren't exactly going as expected.

The girl from Five, Emerson, was the next to appear. Merric glanced over at Dexter, who was watching silently. They had been working together – Dexter and the pair from Five. Merric wasn't sure how close they'd been, but it couldn't be easy losing a friend like that. Izzy, as well, seemed to brace herself for what she knew was coming: Ichabod's face was next in the sky. Thalia had killed him; Merric knew that much.

The boy from Eight was next, followed by the girl from Nine. No surprises there; Thalia had killed the girl, and the boy had been the first to die during the bloodbath. Still, there was something unsettling about actually seeing their faces up there. A sort of finality, now that the first day of the Games was over. Five tributes were gone. Nineteen of them left.

Merric wrapped an arm around each of the younger tributes' shoulders. "I'm sorry. I know you each lost an ally."

"But gained a couple," Dexter pointed out, clearly trying to look on the bright side.

Izzy nodded. "You lost someone, too. The boy from Two?"

Merric nodded. "I guess I did." But although he had thought of the Careers as his allies, there weren't any of them he had been particularly close to. "I guess Careers don't get as … attached to their allies as some people do."

* * *

 **Dexter Guernsey, 13  
** **District Ten**

Maybe that made sense. Dexter nodded as Merric gave his shoulder a squeeze. Careers went into the Games voluntarily. They knew that they would have to kill – that everyone else in the Games would have to _die_ – and they volunteered anyway. Of course they wouldn't get as attached to their allies, or at least to their fellow Careers.

Was that different now that Merric was _their_ ally? He wanted to ask, but he also didn't want to push his luck. He and Izzy had gotten pretty lucky so far. Merric could have killed them at any point now, but he'd chosen to help them, instead. Why? He wanted to ask, but there didn't seem to be a good way to ask without sounding like he was trying to convince Merric _not_ to help them.

Izzy reached for another ear of corn. "At least Garth is still alive."

"And Wade," Dexter added. But Emerson had always been the friendlier of the two. She was the one who had invited him to join their alliance. Without her, would Wade even want him as an ally?

The point was probably moot. It was a big arena, and the chances of them finding each other again seemed pretty slim. He should probably just be grateful for the allies he _did_ have. "Maybe we should get some rest," he suggested. "I can take the first watch."

Izzy shook her head. "You've got a hurt leg."

"Which is why I'm not going to be able to sleep right away, anyway," Dexter reasoned. "You two get some rest. I'll wake you up in a few hours or so."

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

It had barely been ten minutes before she heard something. But not another tribute approaching, and certainly not mutts. It sounded almost like … singing. It took her a moment to realize that it was Dexter, singing softly next to her. Had he been trying to put her to sleep? Was he trying to keep himself awake? Or maybe trying not to be as nervous.

Izzy sat up a little, and Dexter immediately stopped. "Sorry. Did I wake you?"

Izzy shook her head. "Wasn't asleep yet, anyway. What were you singing?"

"It's a song my mom used to sing to me," Dexter answered sheepishly. "Old MacDonald had a Farm."

Izzy raised an eyebrow. "Who's Old MacDonald?"

"I don't know," Dexter admitted. "It's just a fun song. _Old MacDonald had a farm. E-I-E-I-O."_

Merric slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes. "E-I-E-I-O?"

Dexter nodded. "You know, the letters?"

"But why those letters?"

Dexter shrugged. "I don't _know_. It's just a song. _And on that farm he had a_ … and then you pick a farm animal."

"Like a cow?" Izzy asked, confused.

"Sure," Dexter agreed. " _And on that farm, he had a cow. E-I-E-I-O. With a moo-moo here, and a moo-moo there. Here a moo, there a moo, everywhere a moo-moo._ And then you repeat the first line. _Old MacDonald had a farm."_

" _E-I-E-I-O_?" Izzy guessed.

"Exactly!"

Izzy giggled. "Fun. Let me try. _Old MacDonald had a farm. E-I-E-I-O. And on that farm he had a … sheep?"_

"Sure," Dexter grinned, and the two of them continued.

" _With a baa-baa here and a baa-baa there. Here a baa, there a baa, everywhere a baa-baa."_

" _Old MacDonald had a farm,"_ Merric joined in. " _E-I-E-I-O!"_

"Perfect!" Dexter laughed. "Now you do one, Merric."

Merric hesitated. "What else do you have on farms?"

Dexter chuckled. "Lots of things. Chickens, pigs, ducks. And you don't have to use farm animals."

"Can I use a fish?"

Dexter shrugged. "Does a fish make a noise?"

"They could do this," Izzy suggested, making a popping noise with her mouth.

Merric chuckled. "Fish it is. _Old MacDonald had a farm. E-I-E-I-O…"_

* * *

 **Decima Clear, 17  
** **District Two**

Deimos was gone – and not only him, but the girl she'd chased away from the bloodbath. Decima braced herself as she approached the cornucopia. Would there even be anyone there? If Deimos was dead, did that mean the Careers had already started to turn on each other? Or had his death been a fluke?

She could see Thalia as she approached. "Where have you _been_?" Thalia grumbled.

Decima shrugged. "Killing the girl from Five." It was a gamble, but if Thalia was still here at the cornucopia, that meant _she_ hadn't killed the girl from Five unless she'd doubled back for some reason. So she might as well claim credit for the kill.

"And that took you all day?" Thalia asked.

"She was faster than I thought," Decima admitted. That much was true, at least. "And I got delayed by some clown mutts."

Thalia winced. "Fair enough."

"What happened to Deimos?"

"Beats me," Thalia shrugged. "Haven't seen him since the bloodbath. I thought maybe he was with you."

"Nope. What about Merric and Confidence?"

"Merric went soft – let two of the tributes who were hiding in the cornucopia get away, then ran off after them. Confidence went to track him down. No cannons since the anthem, so I guess he's still alive, but I wouldn't count on him coming back anytime soon."

"So it's just us?"

"For now, I guess."

"Not much of a pack," Decima complained.

Thalia shrugged. "True. But you've got a kill, and I picked up two during the bloodbath. We're still pretty lethal, but we probably can't afford to just stay around the cornucopia for long if it's just the two of us."

"You want to go hunting?"

"Unless you'd rather rest…"

That was a challenge. Decima shook her head. "I'm good to go. Just let me grab a weapon."

"Grab a couple," Thalia reasoned. "We could be gone a while."

* * *

 **Confidence Best, 16  
** **District One**

He'd been gone longer than he'd anticipated, but he also didn't want to return to the cornucopia empty-handed. Now it was dark, though, and he definitely didn't want to spend the night somewhere else. Confidence turned back towards the cornucopia.

Or, at least, he _thought_ it was back towards the cornucopia. But as he kept walking, he could see something in the distance. Some sort of ship, hanging from a metal pole. He didn't remember passing _that_ on the way from the cornucopia. Confidence turned around. Behind him was some sort of hill. Had he come that way? None of this looked familiar in the dark.

Great.

He hadn't been counting on getting lost. Careers usually stuck together, so _someone_ would remember how to get back where they had come from. But he'd left the others at the cornucopia. Well, he'd left _Thalia_ at the cornucopia. Where the others were, he wasn't entirely sure. Was there even a point in going back to the cornucopia now? Would Thalia still be there?

Confidence shook his head. Why _wouldn't_ she be there? It wasn't as if she was going to go hunting without him and leave the cornucopia unguarded. So unless one of the others had come back…

No. Merric wasn't coming back. Deimos was dead. And Decima … He wasn't even sure where Decima had gone. He hadn't seen her after the bloodbath. She could be anywhere.

Then again, at the point, he wasn't even sure where _he_ was. There were plenty of flashing lights, but they all seemed to look the same. All drawing him in different directions. "Which way _is_ the cornucopia?" he wondered out loud, hoping someone would take the hint.

Sure enough, a few moments later, a beeping noise signaled a parachute dropping out of the sky. Confidence grinned as it landed, a rolled-up map attached, along with a note. _Thalia and Decima went hunting. Headed northwest from the cornucopia. Take your time getting back._ Confidence nodded. "Perfect."

* * *

 **Shasta Evans, 17  
** **District Nine**

Shasta was still awake when he heard the beeping noise. He'd been trying to sleep, but there wasn't much room to stretch out in the Ferris wheel capsule, and the cramped space was making his back ache. Eventually, he would have to climb down, but he was dreading that, as well. Not because of the snake – it was long gone – but because it would mean putting a strain on his back, and he wasn't looking forward to that. He'd been thinking about staying up here for the night, but if he wasn't going to be able to sleep…

The beeping of the parachute shook him from his thoughts. The package drifted a little, landing beside him in the capsule. It was for _him_? Someone had decided to sponsor _him_? Shasta chuckled as he opened the package. He'd assumed the beeping meant someone else was nearby, but if the sponsors wanted to send him something, he certainly wasn't going to object. But what would they have sent?

Inside the package was a bottle with eight pills in it and a label on the outside. _Get some rest._ Hesitantly, Shasta removed one of the pills. What were they? How many was he supposed to take? He decided to take one to start off with. Whatever they were, they would have to last a while. He took the pill, then took a drink of water.

Almost immediately, the pain in his back began to subside. Shasta smiled a little as he lay down to rest. "Thank you," he mumbled, already half-asleep. He would have to be careful when he used these; they were already making him sleepy. But he was probably safe up here until morning. Then he could worry about what to do next.

* * *

 **Stanley Newton, 18  
** **District Three**

He wished he had something better to defend himself with if something happened. Stanley turned the branch he'd sharpened over in his hands. Cherry was asleep, her own makeshift spear lying beside her. That might be good for spearing fish or scaring away some of the other tributes – especially ones who might not be armed – but it wouldn't do them much good if it came down to a real fight.

Stanley shook his head. He would just have to hope it didn't come down to a real fight until they had something better to defend themselves with. As it was, their best option was probably to run if something happened.

Suddenly, he heard a noise in the distance. Voices. Stanley froze. Maybe it was the tributes from Six. They were still in the train station, as far as he knew. But surely they would know better than to be this loud. As quietly as he could, he gave Cherry a shake. "Wake up. I think someone's coming."

"Over there!" called a voice, and he could see them – two of the Career girls, running towards them. One of them had a sword of some sort, and the other had a spear. Technically, _he_ had a spear, too, but he wasn't eager to use it an an actual fight against two Careers. He and Cherry leapt up immediately and started running.

* * *

 **Cherry Thatch, 16  
** **District Eleven**

The Careers were already starting to catch up when Stanley hit the force field. He staggered to his feet, a little dazed, as they realized they were at the edge of the arena. "What do we do now?" Stanley asked, panicked, staring at the approaching Careers.

Cherry gripped her spear. "We fight." It wasn't a great option, but what other choice did they have? They weren't going to be able to run. At least she had Stanley to watch her back. But she already had a feeling that wasn't going to be good enough. "Look, if we don't make it … thanks."

"For what?"

"For the company." At least she wouldn't die alone.

Stanley nodded. "You, too."

"Oh, how sweet," the girl from One crooned. "They're going to die together."

"No one's going to die." Stanley took a step forward. "No one except _you_."

"You've got guts, I'll give you that," the girl from One admitted. "But that just means you're going to die first." She swung her sword, and Stanley dodged. But the next blow sliced cleanly through his spear. Cherry lunged for the other girl's legs, hoping to throw her off-balance a little, maybe give them time to run the other way. But the girl from Two was faster, her own spear meeting Cherry's and almost knocking the weapon from her grip.

Out of the corner of her eye, Cherry saw the other girl's sword swing again. Stanley tried to dodge, but there was nowhere left to go. The sword sliced across his stomach, his guts spilling from the wound as he let out a scream. Cherry tried to make a move towards him, but the other girl's spear caught her in the leg, bringing her to the ground as the girl with the sword drove her weapon deep into Stanley's chest.

 _Boom_. Cherry braced herself as the girl with the spear pulled it from her leg. She staggered for a moment, trying to stand, but almost immediately, the spear plunged into her chest. Cherry collapsed, blood spilling from the wound as the girl pulled the spear out again. So this was how it was going to end. "I'm sorry, Lavender," she whispered, her last thoughts of her little sister as she closed her eyes and the cannon sounded.

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

 _Boom._ The girl's cannon sounded, and Thalia nodded, satisfied. "Good work."

"You, too," Decima nodded. "It almost seems … well, a little too _easy_."

"They just had a pair of sticks," Thalia pointed out. "How long were you expecting them to last?"

"Fair enough," Decima agreed. "That makes three kills for you."

"And two for you," Thalia smirked. "Confidence will have some catching up to do if he ever finds us again."

"We make a pretty good team."

That they did. At least against a pair of tributes who hadn't been much of a threat in the first place. "Where to next?" Thalia asked.

Decima shrugged. "Well, it looks like this is the edge of the arena. So … left or right?"

"Left." They didn't have to worry about going back to the cornucopia for a while. They'd each packed a backpack full of food and other supplies that they might need. In addition to her katana, she had a few knives tucked in her pockets, and a smaller hatchet stuffed in her backpack. Decima had a few knives in addition to her spear, along with a small sickle that was hanging out of her pack. They were well-armed, well-supplied, and certainly on a roll. No need to go back any time soon.

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

 _Boom_. Cosima flinched as the second cannon in a row shook the air. That was seven cannons so far. Seven tributes dead already, and it was only the first night. She had been thinking about going to sleep, but if there were cannons during the night, it probably meant the Careers were on the hunt. She didn't want them to find her while she was sleeping, and she didn't have anyone else to keep watch.

Okay. That just meant she would have to find somewhere safer to rest. Cosima glanced around. She'd been heading towards the train station, but had decided that was too obvious a target. It was the first place the Careers would look for other tributes. There were a few trees in the distance. Maybe one of those would be large enough to climb. She quickly stuffed her bottles of water into her pockets, along with the corn she'd gathered, and headed towards one of the larger trees.

It certainly _looked_ strong enough to climb. Cosima reached for one of the lower branches and swung herself up. To her relief, the branch held her weight. She climbed a little higher, then a little more. But not too high. Higher up, the branches got thinner, and she didn't want to fall.

But she also didn't want to be _too_ close to the ground. She didn't want the Careers to find her, or, if they did, she didn't want them to be able to stab her from the ground. Cosima leaned back against the trunk of the tree. Would she actually be able to sleep up here? What if she fell off the branch while she was asleep?

But it was better than sleeping on the ground. It was at least a little safer. And even if she couldn't fall asleep, at least she could close her eyes for a while…

* * *

 **Isabella Thatcher, 18  
** **District Eight**

Isabella sighed as she sank down beside the duck pond. She hadn't found anything edible in the bushes – or, at least, nothing she was _certain_ was edible, and she wasn't hungry enough yet to take the risk. She'd filled her pockets with berries to bring back to Emilia, hoping they might be able to identify them. Maybe there were more berries in Twelve than there were in Eight.

Or maybe not. Now that she thought about it, she didn't really know much about Twelve beyond the fact that their district industry was mining. Of course, the other tributes would probably have said the same thing about District Eight. What were they known for? Textiles. Fabric. But beyond patching a pair of pants or hemming a dress for their theater club, she didn't really have any more experience with fabric than the next tribute would. So even if there _were_ more bushes in Twelve, that was no guarantee that Emilia would know whether they were edible.

Still, she hadn't wanted to return empty-handed. She'd taken her time making her way back as it was, partly because of her leg and partly because she was worried that maybe Emilia hadn't found anything, either. What would they do then?

Isabella cupped her hands and scooped up some water from the duck pond. At least they wouldn't die of thirst. But eventually they would need more than water. They would need food, supplies, and a plan. Maybe Emilia would have an answer when she got back.

* * *

 **Garth Kain, 15  
** **District Eleven**

He couldn't go back. He couldn't even stop. Garth kept moving, putting one foot in front of the other despite the fact that he was exhausted. He could barely see a few feet in front of his face. But he couldn't stop. Stopping would give him time to think about what he had done. About what he would have to _keep_ doing if he wanted to survive the arena. He would have to keep killing.

But he didn't _want_ to.

Killing the boy from Two had been bad enough. Sure, he'd been about to kill the younger girl, but she had died anyway. It wasn't as if he'd saved her. So he'd killed the boy to … what? Buy her a few more seconds she wouldn't have had? It didn't really seem worth it.

None of this was worth it. Garth clenched his dagger tightly as he kept going. He didn't want to use it, but, all the same, he couldn't seem to let go. It was his only way of protecting himself. He could have taken the boy's spear, maybe, but that didn't seem quite right. And he wouldn't really know what to do with one, anyway. A dagger, though, he could manage.

He _could_. He'd proven that. But he didn't want to. As Garth glanced down at the weapon in his hands, the sight of blood on the dagger made him sick. Blood from the boy, from the girl, maybe even a little of his own that had dripped on the weapon when the boy had stabbed him.

Garth stumbled forward in the dark, making his way towards the looming shape ahead of him. Some sort of building. Maybe that would be safe. Certainly safer than wandering around in the dark. Garth could barely keep himself upright as he took the last few steps towards the door. He turned the handle. Took a few steps inside. Then he heard a scream.

* * *

 **Carlisle Talbot, 18  
** **District Six**

The scream shook Carlisle from his sleep. He bolted upright immediately and raced down the stairs, sickle in hand, all thought of not alerting Clemence to his presence completely forgotten. A boy stood at the entrance to the station, his dagger raised. There was blood on it. Dripping from it. He took a step towards Clemence.

Carlisle lunged. Maybe he wasn't particularly close to his district partner, but that didn't mean he was going to let someone else just waltz in and kill her. He swung his sickle at the boy, expecting him to raise his own weapon to defend himself.

He didn't. The boy barely flinched as Carlisle's sickle sliced across his stomach. Blood poured out of the wound, and the boy staggered backwards. "I'm sorry," he gasped. "I didn't mean to—"

He didn't get a chance to finish. The sickle sliced across his throat, and the boy collapsed, grasping at his neck. Carlisle swung again. What was he doing? The boy was as good as dead already. But Carlisle swung again. He couldn't stand the way the boy was _looking_ at him – as if he was more surprised than hurt, more confused than angry. Confused about why Carlisle had attacked him.

Only once the cannon sounded did Carlisle finally take a step back. Clemence was staring, horrified. Carlisle opened his mouth to say something. But what was he supposed to say? "I thought he was going to…"

Clemence took a step back. "I didn't even know you were there."

"I didn't want to scare you." But he could tell from her expression that he had failed. He had more than scared her. He had terrified her. Disgusted her. Carlisle took a step back, towards the door. "I … I have to go." Without another word, he raced out the door. Out into the night. Away from the body that lay butchered on the floor.

* * *

 **Clemence Aldrin, 14  
** **District Six**

She had to do something. Clemence took a step back towards the corner where she had been hiding as Carlisle fled into the night. She hadn't even known he was there. She certainly hadn't expected him to try to help her. She had no doubt that was what he had thought he was doing. And the boy had certainly _looked_ dangerous. But the way he had been holding his dagger … he hadn't seemed like he was going to hurt her. If anything, he had seemed worried that _she_ might attack _him_.

Clemence took a deep breath, then took another step towards the body. Okay. She could do this. It was just another body. She was used to that. There was more blood, but the smell … the smell was the same. The same smell she was used to in her father's shop. The scent of death.

She rolled the body over gently, and immediately had to fight to keep from throwing up. A look of pain was etched in the boy's face, but she hadn't even heard him scream. It had been too quick even for that. He had been as good as dead after the first slice. Why had Carlisle kept going?

Clemence shook her head. It didn't seem fair to leave him like this. To send his body home like this. She didn't have any way to clean the body, but there was something else she could do. As carefully as she could, she dragged the body outside, a safe distance away from the train station. Some of the bushes nearby seemed dry; that would have to do.

After gathering a little kindling and spreading it near the body, Clemence fetched the box of matches she had found in her bag. It took a few tries to get the branches to light, but, finally, she got a good fire going. One by one, she added more branches, the flames licking at the boy's body as the rose higher and higher into the sky. It was almost beautiful.

* * *

 **Emilia Rey Fumero, 14  
** **District Twelve**

Another cannon. Emilia barely flinched as they trudged back towards where they had left their supplies at the lake. That was three cannons so far since the faces had appeared in the sky. Eight tributes gone. Only sixteen of them left. A third of the tributes were already dead.

But they were still alive. And unless one of the three cannons had belonged to their ally, so was Isabella. Emilia glanced around as something fell on their skin. Rain. It was only rain. It started as a drizzle, but slowly grew into a downpour. Great. Just great.

Maybe that blanket was going to be useful after all. Emilia raced back towards where they had left the supplies, quickly snatching up the blanket and the shield. The shield wasn't really large enough to provide any sort of protection from the rain, aside from maybe acting as an umbrella. But the blanket seemed to be at least somewhat waterproof. Emilia slung it over their head and wrapped themself tight. Maybe it wasn't much, but at least they would be warm.

But Isabella … Where was she? Emilia had half expected her to be waiting for them when they got back. Maybe she had found something. Maybe she _hadn't_ found anything, and was still out there looking for food. Emilia had found some caramel apples in the trees, and had eaten their fill before stuffing the rest of the ones they had gathered into their pockets. When Isabella got back, she would have food waiting for her.

 _If_ she came back. Emilia pulled their blanket a little tighter. What if Isabella was dead? If someone had found her, she probably wouldn't have been able to fight back, or even run away. What if she never came back?

Emilia shook the thought from their head. They had already lost their other allies. Martha was dead, and there was no telling where Troy was. If Isabella didn't come back, maybe they could find someone else. Or maybe not. Maybe they were simply better off alone.

* * *

 **Freya Clearwater, 17  
** **District Four**

She just wished she wasn't alone. Freya paced the small shelter as the rain grew harder outside. The night was getting longer, and she was getting tired. But if she fell asleep now, what would happen if someone found her? She would be as good as dead.

But would anyone really be hunting for other tributes in this weather? _She_ certainly wouldn't want to be caught out in the rain. With any luck, most of the other tributes would be looking for somewhere warm and dry to stay. Somewhere like…

 _Shit_. Freya realized what that meant just as she caught sight of two figures coming towards her. Coming towards her shelter. Freya froze. Should she run? Abandon her hiding place and hope that was all they wanted – somewhere warm and dry? She certainly didn't have much of anything to defend herself with. If it came to a fight, what was she supposed to do?

But if she ran now, the same was true. They might see her as an easy target and decide to pick her off before worrying about their shelter. _Especially_ if it was two of the Careers. It was too dark to tell, though. Too dark to see who might be coming.

Freya braced herself. There was another option – stay and _pretend_ to be armed. If it turned out all they wanted was some shelter – and if they seemed ready to fight her for it – then she could always run. If they were willing to share … well, it might be good to have some company.

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

There was already someone there. Alexia glanced over at Troy as the two of them approached the shelter. "I think there's someone there."

Troy shrugged. "So let's ask if we can join them."

"What if it's the Careers?" Alexia hissed.

"Why would the Careers be _here_?" Troy reasoned. "Wouldn't they have just gone back to the cornucopia if they wanted shelter? Besides," he added, peering into the distance. "I think it's just one person."

Now that she looked closer, it seemed like Troy was right. There was only one shape standing in the shelter, but that didn't mean that there weren't others nearby. "I'll go first," she offered. "If they're alone, they might be less intimidated by just me – less likely to attack, more likely to let me join them."

Troy nodded. "Okay."

That was it? She'd expected more of an argument. Maybe he was too tired – or too scared – to argue about letting her take the risk. Maybe he was all too happy to let her be the first to approach. She had been trying to play up the situation, put on some bluster for the cameras. But if he was just going to let her…

"Okay," she agreed, handing him her backpack and motioning to him to stay back as she approached the shelter, clutching her trident tightly. "Hello!" she called. She certainly didn't want to startle the other tribute; that could be dangerous.

"Who's there?" a voice called back.

"Alexia, from District Ten. Troy is with me."

"Just you two?"

"Just us," Alexia confirmed. "We were wondering if … well, if you might let us join you. The shelter looks big enough for all of us, and—"

"I'm Freya," the girl interrupted. "From District Four."

District Four. A Career. But was she? She'd left the Careers during training, and had spent the interviews playing up the fact that she had only volunteered to try to save her mother. Maybe it was still worth a shot. "Good to meet you," Alexia called back. "So what do you say?"

"You … you'd still want to?"

Alexia shrugged. "Look, it seems like a better option than staying out in the rain. But if you'd rather fight us for it—"

"No," Freya answered immediately. "Come on in, both of you."

* * *

 **Troy Arrowhead, 15  
** **District Twelve**

Troy relaxed a little as Alexia waved him forward, rushing under the roof of the shelter as soon as he was sure it was safe. Alexia smiled. "Troy, this is Freya. Freya, Troy."

Troy nodded. "Nice to meet you."

"You, too," the other girl agreed. "Would you like some apples?"

Troy perked up. "Apples?"

"Caramel apples," Freya confirmed. "I found them in one of the trees nearby." She produced several apples from her pockets, handing one to each of them.

"We have some corn," Troy blurted out before he could think twice about offering food to their new ally. He opened their pack, pulled out an ear of corn, and handed it to Freya.

Freya nodded gratefully. "Thanks. I guess you've been by the corn field?"

"More of a maze, really," Alexia agreed. "We passed a tent on our way here, thought maybe we could stay there, but the roof didn't hold up long in the storm."

"That's a shame," Freya offered. "But at least you have somewhere to stay now. Maybe we can … well, you must be tired. If you want to get some sleep, I can keep watch for a while, or…"

"Or you could get some rest while we keep watch," Alexia countered, maybe a little nervous about putting their lives in the hands of someone they'd just met. But Freya didn't seem to be armed, and if she'd wanted a fight, she could have had one earlier.

Troy rolled his eyes. "Well, _you_ two can stay awake all night if you like. _I'm_ going to get some sleep." Humming quietly, he rolled up their backpack as comfortably as he could and lay down, using it as a pillow. One of the others would keep watch. Maybe both of them. But if they were going to trust each other, one of them needed to make the first move. It might as well be him.

Besides, he was _tired._

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

Now he wasn't just tired, but cold and wet as well. Wade pulled his backpack tighter around his back, but it wasn't doing much to keep him dry. He'd eaten the crackers before they could get too soggy, but the rest of his supplies were soaked clean through – and so were his clothes. He wanted to lie down and rest somewhere, but he already knew that was going to be useless in the rain. So he might as well keep moving.

Suddenly, he saw something in the distance. Some sort of fabric, flapping back and forth in the wind. Was that a tarp? A blanket? He wasn't sure, but _anything_ would be better than nothing. Slowly, cautiously, he crept towards the shape.

It wasn't until he was closer that he realized there was a _person_ under the blanket. That was the only thing that would give it that shape. But they seemed to be facing the other way, and they probably couldn't hear him over the sound of the rain. He could probably sneak up on them, steal their blanket, and…

And then what? If they were armed, would he be able to get away in time? Probably not. Almost certainly not. Not in the rain, which was quickly making everything on the ground slippery. Not in the dark, when he couldn't really see where he was going. Probably not even under the best of circumstances. He wasn't exactly the fastest tribute in the arena.

But there _was_ another option. Wade reached into his pocket, fingering the knife. This was why he had it, after all. To defend himself. To take what he wanted. What he _needed_. That was what tributes _did_ during the Games. He had survived so far. He had made it out of the bloodbath without blood on his hands. But if he wanted to make it out of the arena, he would eventually have to kill.

And he wasn't likely to get a better opportunity than this. He had a weapon. The other tribute's back was turned. They wouldn't get much of a chance to fight back, as long as he acted quickly enough.

As quietly as he could, Wade crept up behind the figure in front of him. It was hard to tell where to aim, since all he could see was the blanket. Quickly, he stabbed. A scream cut through the sound of the rain. He stabbed again. And again. After the fourth time, the body beneath the blanket went limp, and a cannon sounded.

Wade yanked the blanket away to reveal the younger tribute from Twelve. They weren't much older than him. His stomach churned, but that didn't stop him from taking the blanket – or the shield that lay nearby. He wrapped the blanket around himself, tucked his knife back into his pocket, and curled up on the ground. Only then did he vomit before rolling over to try to get some sleep.

* * *

 **So we definitely went from tributes singing _Old MacDonald_ to four more tributes dying over the course of the chapter. I guess that makes up for the rather sparse bloodbath. Here's how things currently stand...**

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.**

 **20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.**

 **19th - Stanley Newton, D3. Stabbed with a katana by Thalia Gold.**

 **18th - Cherry Thatch, D11. Stabbed with a spear by Decima Clear.**

 **17th - Garth Kain, D11. Stomach and throat sliced by Carlisle Talbot.**

 **16th - Emilia Rey Fumero, D12. Stabbed in the back by Wade Larthey.**

* * *

 **District Placements:**

 **12th - District 11 - Best Placement: 17th**


	28. Day Two - Quit While You're Ahead

**Day Two  
** **Quit While You're Ahead**

* * *

 _Quit while you're ahead: To stop doing something while one is still successful._

* * *

 **Dexter Guernsey, 13  
** **District Ten**

The pain in his leg seemed to be getting worse. Dexter shifted a little as the rain began to let up, giving way to the sun that was rising in the distance. He couldn't see much of the sunrise through the corn, but the truth was he hadn't expected to see a sunrise in the arena at _all_. He hadn't expected to make it this far.

But if his leg was as bad as it felt, he might not make it much farther. Carefully, Dexter rolled back the bandages. The wound hadn't been deep, but that wasn't what worried him. Purple-red lines were beginning to stretch outward from the wound. Was it infected? Poisoned? Either way, he wouldn't last long – not without help.

Slowly, careful not to wake his allies, Dexter stood up. They _would_ want to help him, he was certain, if they found out. Which was why he wasn't going to _let_ them find out. He'd gotten lucky so far – maybe luckier than he deserved. If he was going to go through with what he was planning, he didn't want to risk anyone's life but his own. He was probably dying; he had no right to ask them to die along with him.

So he tucked his knife safely into his pocket and made his way back along the path, out of the corn maze. Back towards the cornucopia. It was a risk, but it was the only place he might find something that could save him. Besides, there had been four cannons during the night. Maybe that meant the Careers were out hunting, and there wouldn't even _be_ anyone at the cornucopia.

Maybe. He had gotten lucky before. Maybe it would happen again.

* * *

 **Shasta Evans, 17  
** **District Nine**

He had certainly gotten lucky last night. Shasta stretched his arms, his hands brushing the top of the capsule, which was dripping with water. The capsule had been enough to keep him dry, and now it was moving. He wouldn't even have to climb down. All he had to do was step out once the capsule reached the platform at the bottom.

Shasta quickly gathered his supplies into his pack, along with the seven pills he had left. He was feeling _very_ refreshed, but unfortunately he had no idea what had happened during the night. He hadn't even known it was raining until he saw the water dripping from the roof of the capsule. Had any cannons gone off? Normally they would have woken him, but he had no way of knowing for sure.

Still, the relief was worth it – for now, at least. He would just have to be careful when he used the pills. Careful to find a safe place to settle down _before_ he took them, because if the rain and maybe a few cannons hadn't woken him, there was no telling what he could sleep through.

Shasta shook the thought from his head as the capsule reached the bottom of the wheel and he stepped off onto the platform, his legs a little shaky. He could worry about that later. Right now, he was happy to simply be alive. He had made it through the night. He had made it through one full day of the Games.

And that was the key thing, really. Taking it one day at a time. If he tried to think about the big picture now, it would only be frightening. Overwhelming. But he could focus on today. On trying to survive until nightfall. For now, that would be good enough.

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

She was beginning to wish she and Decima had checked to see if there were any waterproof clothes in the cornucopia before heading out. The two of them were completely soaked, water dripping from their clothes as the sun rose a little higher in the sky. But if that was the worst of it so far – that they were wet and a little bit uncomfortable – then maybe it wasn't worth complaining about. They were still alive. Still together. And between them, they had _five_ kills. More than half the tributes who had died so far had died by their hands.

Maybe they didn't _need_ Confidence, after all. Maybe they didn't need Deimos. Certainly they hadn't needed Merric. She wondered if he was still alive. Two of the cannons had belonged to the boy from Three and the girl from Eleven – the pair that she and Decima had killed. But there had been two cannons after that; either of them could have belonged to Confidence or Merric. Maybe both.

Thalia stretched a little as the pair of them headed for the nearby building. If a tribute or two had decided to take shelter there from the storm, they would be easy pickings now. That would be just the thing to take her mind off the fact that she was soaking wet – another easy kill or two under her belt.

Sure enough, as she and Decima approached the train station, they could see someone. One of the younger girls – District Six, maybe? She was picking apples from a tree near the station. Thalia chuckled. This wasn't far from where they had found the other pair. Were all the tributes hiding in the same area? If so, this was going to be easier than she'd thought.

Suddenly, a noise in the distance broke the silence. A train was coming. The girl looked around, startled – just in time to see the two Careers coming her way. The younger girl broke into a run, and Thalia grinned as she sprinted after her – straight towards the train. The girl wouldn't have anywhere to run. This was going to be a piece of cake.

* * *

 **Clemence Aldrin, 14  
** **District Six**

This wasn't going to be easy. Clemence braced herself as the two Careers got closer and closer. The train kept on rumbling towards her, and Clemence stopped near the tracks. Waiting. She would only get one chance at this, and she _had_ to get it right. If she didn't, she was dead – either from the train, or the two Careers who were almost on top of her. She took a deep breath, watching, waiting for the perfect car.

Then she saw it – a few train cars down, one of the doors was open. Whether the Gamemakers had done that intentionally or whether it was just a coincidence, she wasn't sure. But she wasn't going to pass up the chance. As the train rumbled on, she braced herself. Took a deep breath. _Wait for it. Wait for it._

Then she jumped.

Clemence gasped for breath as she hit the floor of the train car. The train rumbled on, the momentum throwing her towards the back of the car. But she was in. Quickly, she grabbed hold of the first thing she saw – a metal bar running along the inside of the car. For a moment, she simply lay there, catching her breath.

Finally, she got to her feet and made her way to the open door, holding onto the bar all the way. When she glanced back, she caught sight of the two Careers a few cars behind her. "Shit," Clemence mumbled. Of course they had tried the same thing. She would probably be safe until the train came to a stop, but once it did…

So she would just have to make sure she got off _before_ then. Clemence closed her eyes as the train rumbled past the next station. There was no telling when it would stop. The trains didn't seem to run on any sort of schedule. Maybe the Gamemakers just started them up when things got boring. The train rumbled past a field of corn, then a hill with some logs floating up and down a track. Something that looked like a pirate ship. She could see a Ferris wheel coming up. That was as good a spot as any.

Clemence swallowed hard, trying to collect her nerves. Jumping onto the train had been one thing; jumping _off_ was entirely different. If she landed wrong, or if she landed on something hard, she could seriously injure herself, leaving her a sitting duck for the Careers. But things would be worse if she stayed on the train until it stopped; then the Careers were sure to get her. As it was, they might not even notice she'd jumped off until the train was too far down the tracks.

The Ferris wheel was getting closer. Three. Two. _One_.

She jumped.

She hit the ground hard, but rolled quickly away from the train. The Careers didn't seem to be following her. She got to her feet as quickly as she could, only to see a boy staring at her. "Get out of here!" she screamed as loudly as she could. "There are Careers on the train!" The boy – she was pretty sure he was from District Nine – took off running immediately.

But the Careers didn't show any sign of jumping off. Maybe they were too scared. Maybe they didn't think she was worth the trouble. Either way, she wasn't about to stick around and find out. She took off running in the opposite direction, back towards the hill with the logs. At least there would be water there. Then she could figure out what to do next.

* * *

 **Decima Clear, 17  
** **District Two**

The little girl had gotten away for now. Decima clung tightly to the metal bar inside the train. For a moment, she had considered jumping out after her, but it wasn't worth it. Not now. The girl clearly knew what she was doing; maybe she had even been doing it her whole life. District Six was full of trains, after all. One wrong move, one wrong jump, and she could be injured or even _killed_. It wasn't worth it. The train had to stop eventually.

Sure enough, the train seemed to be slowing down as they approached a second Ferris wheel. Slower. Slower. "Now?" Thalia asked, and Decima nodded. The pair of them jumped off the train, landing in the grass without much trouble. Thalia shook her head. "That wasn't as hard as it looked. Maybe we should have tried it earlier."

"The train was moving _faster_ earlier," Decima pointed out. "There will be time to find her later. Besides, there are plenty of other tributes. Let's check that tent." She pointed to a brightly-colored, flapping mass of fabric nearby. It wasn't much, but it might have been enough to offer some tributes shelter from the rain. With any luck, someone might still be there.

As they neared the tent, however, Decima could see that wasn't likely. It had collapsed too much for any tribute to consider it a usable shelter. "Let's see if we can get it back up," she suggested.

Thalia raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"If it's set up, it might draw some tributes in. They'll probably be looking for shelter after the rain last night."

Thalia shrugged. "Go for it. I'm going to check out that pond we passed, see if there's anyone there."

Decima smiled a little as Thalia left. That was fine by her. It would give both of them something to do for a while, and if someone happened along, she was pretty sure she could handle them herself. Slowly, she began gathering and reassembling the tent poles and the fabric. Maybe her plan would work; maybe it wouldn't. Either way, it was a nice change of pace.

* * *

 **Freya Clearwater, 17  
** **District Four**

The three of them – Freya, Alexia, and Troy – were enjoying their lunch of caramel apples, corn, and water from the duck pond. After Troy had decided that it was okay to get some sleep, Alexia had quickly agreed to let Freya keep watch for a while. The three of them had traded shifts without incident through the night and well into the morning, despite the rain that had kept beating down on the top of the shelter. They had stayed safe and, for the most part, dry.

A little while ago, they had settled down to lunch, and things seemed to be going quite well. Suddenly, Troy froze, staring into the distance. Freya and Alexia immediately turned where he was looking, and the three of them leapt to their feet. Thalia, the girl from One, was headed straight for them.

Maybe she had seen them. If not, she certainly did now. She had a sword in her hand and several more weapons tucked into her backpack. Alexia and Troy had a trident and a pair of daggers, but would the three of them really stand a chance against someone who knew what they were doing?

Troy and Alexia didn't seem to think so. Immediately, they scattered, running in different directions – Alexia towards the pond, Troy towards the field of corn in the distance. Freya froze. Should she run with them? Run a different way and hope that Thalia would choose to go after them? That didn't seem likely. If anything, Thalia would probably come after _her_ first. She was from District Four, after all. The imposter who wasn't really a Career. Did that make her more of a target?

Before she could make up her mind, however, a shot rang out. A cannon. _Boom._ A second one quickly followed. Without thinking, Freya dropped to the ground, and a third cannon sounded. Maybe Thalia would be fooled. Maybe she would think one of the cannons had been hers.

Freya waited. Thalia's steps got a little closer, then faded into the distance. Maybe she'd decided it wasn't worth it to check on someone who was already dead. Maybe she didn't want to let the others escape while she wasted her time with Freya. Either way, she was safe. Well, safer than Alexia and Troy were. She just hoped the two of them could get away in time.

* * *

 **Isabella Thatcher, 18  
** **District Eight**

 _Boom._ Another cannon sounded, and Isabella looked around, startled. The cannon was quickly followed by another, but there was something different about them. They didn't seem as loud as the cannons had been the day before, or even during the night. But what did that mean?

Maybe she was just imagining things. But the cannons _seemed_ to be coming from a specific direction. Curious, Isabella hobbled off in the direction they seemed to be coming from – away from the duck pond. Finally, in the distance, she could see some sort of ship. But it didn't appear to be on any sort of body of water. Instead, it was hanging from some sort of pole, rocking gently back and forth as…

As a cannon fired. Of course. Isabella burst out laughing, realizing too late that whoever was firing the cannons on the ship might hear her. Sure enough, a boy appeared, and she took off as quickly as she could. Which wasn't particularly quickly, but maybe she had enough of a head start that the boy wouldn't bother following her.

Isabella clutched her crutches tightly as she swung them in front of her, moving as quickly as she could. How many of the cannons she'd heard had actually come from the ship? How many tributes were _really_ dead? Aside from the five whose faces had appeared the night before, she had no way of knowing for sure. None of them did.

Well, none of them except the boy who had been firing the cannon.

* * *

 **Confidence Best, 16  
** **District One**

The other tributes would have no idea how many of them were left – not until tonight, at least. When they saw the faces in the sky, most of them would figure it out, of course – that he'd been firing the ship's cannon, hoping to convince some of them that there were fewer tributes left. But if it made any of them question themselves, if it made any of them act a bit more irrationally because they thought the end of the Games was getting closer, then it was worth the bother of firing the cannon a few more times.

Confidence chuckled, watching the girl with the broken leg limp away. He could worry about her later. She wasn't going to get far, and besides, he was having too much _fun_. He fired the cannon again, wondering how far away in the arena the other tributes would be able to hear it. The girl from Eight obviously had, but where had _she_ been?

And, more importantly, why had she decided to head _towards_ the sound of a cannon? Especially in her condition, wasn't it a better idea to _avoid_ where she thought other tributes would be? Confidence shook his head. It was a wonder she had made it this far, really. A wonder she was still alive if she was that careless, that inclined to let her curiosity get the better of her. She probably wouldn't last much longer, anyway. He could let her have a little bit of a head start.

* * *

 **Troy Arrowhead, 15  
** **District Twelve**

Troy kept running until he was certain the girl from One wasn't following him anymore. Why she had decided to come after him instead of Alexia, he wasn't sure. Maybe he seemed like an easier target. He had one of their daggers, while Alexia had a trident in addition to her dagger. Maybe he had seemed like the slower of the two, but he'd had enough of a head start. He couldn't see her behind him anymore. Maybe she'd decided it wasn't worth the chase. Maybe she'd found someone _else_.

Or maybe someone else had found _her_. There had been several cannons since the girl had appeared. Had one of them been hers? He wasn't sure who would be brave enough to attack a Career while she was chasing someone else, but _someone_ was killing tributes – and quickly. If it wasn't the Careers, then who was it?

Maybe it didn't matter. After all, the more tributes died, the closer he was to actually surviving these Games. It was only the second day, and there had already been … what? Twelve cannons? Thirteen? That seemed a little too quick. But he couldn't argue with what he was hearing. Could he?

Suddenly, a voice in the distance interrupted his thoughts. "Whoa there. I'm not going to hurt you." A voice coming from up ahead. Troy ducked, hoping whoever was speaking wouldn't notice him.

"Then what do you want?" a second voice asked.

"I just wanted to know where you were going in such a rush."

A pause. A rather long one. Then the second voice answered. "Back to the cornucopia."

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

Why would he want to go back to the cornucopia? Cosima shook her head as the boy in front of her took a step backwards – back in the direction he'd been heading before she'd caught hold of his arm, bringing him to a stop. She'd assumed he was running from something – that there was someone behind him she needed to be worried about. As it turned out, he was running _towards_ something – but why?

In response, the boy pulled up the leg of his pants, revealing some sort of purple bruise that snaked outward from a wound in his leg. "Some sort of poison. And there might be something that can stop it – but only at the cornucopia. So that's where I have to go."

"But the Careers—"

The boy chuckled a little. "Have you been _listening_? How many cannons has that been? Do you really think the Careers are at the cornucopia? If they're still alive, _they're_ probably the ones doing all the killing. They probably didn't even leave anyone at the cornucopia, since they're down at least three."

"Three?" Cosima asked.

"Sure. The girl from Four wasn't a Career to begin with. The boy from Two is dead. And the boy from Four isn't with the other Careers."

Cosima raised an eyebrow. "How do you know?"

The boy shrugged. "Because he's with me. Or he was with me, until I left."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I don't want them to come with me … in case I'm wrong."

Cosima nodded. That was brave of him. For a moment, she thought about offering to help him, but she thought better of it. If he didn't want help from his allies, why would he want it from her? This was clearly something he wanted to do alone. Cosima nodded, taking a step to the side, out of his way. "Good luck."

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

It didn't take her long to realize she'd lost the girl from One. Alexia sank down next to the duck pond, clutching her trident tightly. Everything seemed to be happening so fast. Only this morning, she'd had two allies, and now … now what? Troy had run off, but the girl from One had decided to go after him. There had been a few cannons since then; he could very well be dead. And Freya, too, was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, she caught sight of something – some _one_ – a little bit farther down along the pond. It was a boy – one of the younger boys. He was huddled in a blanket, casting what seemed to be a makeshift fishing line into the pond. Alexia chuckled a little. "Any luck?" she called.

The boy barely glanced up. "Look, if you're going to kill me, just do it already."

Alexia glanced down at the trident in her hands. The boy was clearly miserable, but something held her back. She couldn't just kill him like this. "What happened?"

The boy stood up, fanning out the blanket so she could see the holes, the blood that had stained the blanket. "Last night, when it was raining … I just wanted to be somewhere warm. Somewhere dry. The kid from Twelve – the younger one – they had this blanket, and I…"

He trailed off. Alexia looked away. The younger kid from Twelve. Troy's district partner. They had been right here. If she'd known that, maybe she could have found them, invited them to join her and Troy. But she hadn't known. There was no way she _could_ have known.

"So you killed them," Alexia finished. "Emilia."

"Emilia," the boy repeated. "That makes it even worse – knowing their name." He slumped back down onto the rocks. "Look, if you're going to do it, just _do_ it. I deserve it."

Alexia took a step closer. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. Slowly, she raised the trident. The boy looked away, expecting the worst.

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

The splash caught Wade completely by surprise. He'd been expecting the girl to spear him with the trident. He'd braced himself for the pain, for her to just end it all. Instead, a little water splashed up into his face as the trident struck the water, instead, spearing a fish straight through. Wade looked up, surprised. "What?"

The girl shook her head. "Kid, you did what anybody would have done. Exactly what the Capitol wants us to. The Gamemakers, the audience, the other tributes – nobody would have expected you to do anything else. So if you want to sit here and wait for somebody to come along and kill you, that's none of my business. You can do that. Or you can get off your ass and try to keep yourself alive."

Wade chuckled a little. "You sound like my mom. _Get out of your room, Wade. Go and play with your brothers, Wade._ "

The girl sat down by him, pulling the fish from her trident. "So it's Wade, is it?"

Wade nodded. "And you are…?"

"Alexia." She clapped a hand on his shoulder and handed him the trident. "Why don't you give it a go?"

Wade raised an eyebrow. "You mean it?"

"Why not?"

"What makes you so certain I won't stab you with it?"

Alexia shrugged. "Considering how bad you feel about what you did last night, I don't think you have it in you to turn on someone who's just trying to help you."

She was probably right. But why _was_ she trying to help him? Maybe it didn't matter. Wade took a few steps into the water, the fish scattering a little as he stabbed, then stabbed again. The third time, the trident finally speared straight through one of the fish. Wade reached down and slid it off the trident. "Thanks." He held out the trident.

Alexia smiled as she took it. "You're welcome." She turned to go. "Take care of yourself, Wade – or find someone else who will. Maybe I'll see you again."

"I hope not," Wade mumbled as she disappeared around the pond. He didn't want to see her again, because that might mean killing her. He didn't _want_ to kill her – not after she had been so kind. He just hoped it wouldn't come down to that.

* * *

 **Merric Belgrave, 18  
** **District Four**

He just wished he knew where Dexter had gone. Merric and Izzy slowly made their way out of the corn field, searching everywhere they could think of for their ally. But Dexter was nowhere to be found. "Why would he just run off like that?"

"I don't know," Merric admitted. "People do funny thing sometimes – just run off and leave their alliance without any warning."

Izzy chuckled. "Like you did with the Careers?"

"Exactly what I meant. If he's still alive, we'll find him eventually. Maybe he went to go find water or something." That seemed like a reasonable suggestion. There was plenty of food in the corn field, but the rain from the night before hadn't really collected anywhere; it had just sunk into the ground, making everything muddy. They'd followed Dexter's footprints to the edge of the field, but had lost them once he was on the grass again.

"Let's try that way," Izzy suggested, pointing towards a hill in the distance. It looked like there was water there, so maybe that was the logical place to go. Merric followed her, stuffing a few more ears of corn into his pockets as they left the field. They would probably be coming back, but in case something happened, at least they would have some food.

As they neared the hill, the two of them could see logs floating up and down what appeared to be some sort of water slide. There was certainly plenty of water, but no sign of Dexter. "We should at least collect some water," Merric suggested, and the two of them headed for one of the shallower parts of the slide. But they didn't really have anything to put it in.

"Can I use your knife?" Izzy asked, pulling out one of the larger ears of corn from her pockets. Merric nodded and handed her the knife, which she proceeded to use to hollow out the inside of one of the ears, cutting part of the top off to make a cork of sorts. Maybe it wasn't the biggest container for water, but it would do for now.

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

Izzy handed the knife to Merric, who used it to make his own makeshift water bottle. It wouldn't hold much, but as long as they stayed close to the water, it wouldn't matter if they couldn't carry much at once. They knew where there was food, where there was water, and she could see a tent in the distance that would provide some shelter if it started to rain again. Now all they needed was their other ally…

Suddenly, the sound of another cannon cut through the air. _Boom._ It was quickly followed by three more. Izzy turned to Merric, startled. How many had that been? Eight so far today? The Games couldn't possibly be moving that quickly, could they? And the cannons … there was something odd about them. Something a bit _off_ that she couldn't quite place.

Izzy shook her head. Maybe she was just going nuts. That would be the simplest explanation. But Merric had heard the cannons, too. "How many does that make?" he asked.

"Eight today, I think," Izzy offered. "Four last night. Five faces yesterday. That makes seventeen. Seven of us left? That seems a bit…"

"Quick," Merric agreed. "But what's the other option?"

"Maybe we're hearing things."

"Both of us?"

"Maybe there's something echoing," Izzy suggested. "A lot of the cannons have come in pairs. Maybe this is just a really echo-y arena."

"But why not all of them, then?" Merric asked. "You heard five cannons the first day, right?"

"And five faces at night," Izzy agreed. "Maybe something happened after that. If that's the case, seventeen minus five … so twelve cannons with echoes, so maybe only six people are dead?"

Merric shook his head. "Maybe. I guess we'll find out in a few hours." The sun was already starting to sink a little lower behind the corn field. They wouldn't have to wait too long to figure out what was going on.

Part of her hoped the count was right. That there _were_ only seven of them left. That would mean only six more people would have to die in order for her to go home. If they were that close, maybe _that_ was why Dexter had left.

But he had left _before_ most of those cannons. One of them might even have been his. And if there _were_ only seven of them left, it was only a matter of time before one of those cannons would have to be Merric's.

* * *

 **Carlisle Talbot, 18  
** **District Six**

What the hell was going on with all those cannons? Carlisle cringed as yet _another_ cannon sounded. How many was that now? Eight? Nine? What was going on that so many tributes were dying? Whatever it was, he was just glad he was nowhere near it. He didn't seem to be anywhere near _anything_. He shook his head as he made his way past the Ferris wheel and towards some sort of cart in the distance. Maybe there would be some food there…

Sure enough, as he reached the cart, he could see that there _was_ food … or, at least, it seemed to be food. It was pink and fluffy, but it tasted sweet. Carlisle quickly stuffed as much as he could into his mouth, then stuffed some more into his backpack for later. As he did, though, it stuck together, compressing into a much smaller, harder candy and making the inside of his bag sticky. It seemed like it was practically pure sugar. Carlisle sighed. It was certainly tasty, but it wasn't exactly filling. He would have to find something better.

As he left the cart behind, something caught his eye in the distance – a statue of some sort of animal. He couldn't see very well in the fading light; the sun was setting behind him now. But as he drew closer, he could see that, no, it wasn't quite a statue. It looked like a bull, but in place of its legs was some sort of pole attaching it to the base. It was rocking slowly back and forth, as if trying to shake something off its back.

Suddenly, four stubby legs sprouted from the bottom of the statue, and it shook itself off the pole. Immediately, Carlisle turned and ran – back towards the Ferris wheel. But the bull was faster. Carlisle zigzagged as he ran, hoping to throw the mutt off, but it had almost caught up to him by the time he reached the Ferris wheel.

Carlisle ducked behind one of the poles, but the bull charged on ahead, ramming its head into the pole, one of its horns slicing into Carlisle's leg. Carlisle screamed and staggered backwards, reaching for his sickle. But what good was that going to do against a statue? There was nowhere to run, but maybe…

Quickly, Carlisle ducked behind another pole. The bull rammed its head into that one as Carlisle ducked behind the first pole again. Again the bull rammed into the pole, bending it even more. Again. And again. Back and forth. The Ferris wheel began to creak under the strain. Carlisle wanted to run, but he knew he couldn't. He had to make sure the bull was in _just_ the right place when the Ferris wheel fell, or it would just run after him, instead.

So he darted back to the other pole one more time. With one last creaking grown, the Ferris wheel began to topple. At the last second, Carlisle darted out of the way, the edge of the Ferris wheel brushing the back of his shirt as it toppled on top of the bull. Something hard struck him in the back – maybe a piece of the Ferris wheel that had flown off. Carlisle sank to the ground, covering his head, waiting for everything to clear as the Capitol anthem began to play.

* * *

 **Just in case that was confusing - and I realized reading through it again that it probably was - nobody actually died this chapter. All of those cannons were Confidence messing around with the cannons on the pirate ship. So things stand exactly as they did before.**

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.**

 **20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.**

 **19th - Stanley Newton, D3. Stabbed with a katana by Thalia Gold.**

 **18th - Cherry Thatch, D11. Stabbed with a spear by Decima Clear.**

 **17th - Garth Kain, D11. Stomach and throat sliced by Carlisle Talbot.**

 **16th - Emilia Rey Fumero, D12. Stabbed in the back by Wade Larthey.**

* * *

 **District Placements:**

 **12th - District 11 - Best Placement: 17th**


	29. Night Two - Long Shot

**Night Two  
** **Long Shot**

* * *

 _Long shot: An attempt or undertaking that offers much but in which there is little chance for success._

* * *

 **Isabella Thatcher, 18  
** **District Eight**

Isabella leaned back against the tree she had found as the Capitol anthem began to play. Time to find out how many tribute were _actually_ dead. Most of the other tributes in the arena were probably expecting a long line of faces tonight, but she knew better. Most of the cannons had been the result of the boy from One goofing off on the pirate ship. _Exactly_ how many, she wasn't sure, but there definitely weren't as few of them left as most of the other tributes probably assumed by now.

Sure enough, the first face to appear belonged to the boy from Three. So that meant most of the Careers, at least, were still alive and kicking. The pair from One, the girl from Two – they were still out there somewhere. Still hunting, probably. Well, the boy from One, at least, was probably still on the pirate ship, but the others … they could be anywhere.

The next face, however, jumped all the way to the girl from _Eleven_. Isabella couldn't help a little smirk. That would surprise them. The boy from Eleven was next, followed by Emilia. The smirk died on Isabella's lips as her friend's face faded from the sky. She'd suspected, when Emilia hadn't come looking for her, that maybe that had been the case. Maybe they shouldn't have split up, after all.

Or maybe splitting up had saved her life. Either way, that meant four dead, along with the five the previous day. Nine. Only nine tributes dead. That meant fifteen of them were left.

And she was still one of them. Isabella held back a chuckle as she realized. She had outlived _nine_ tributes. Not only that, but she'd outlived an idiotic decision to investigate the sound of cannons. What had overcome her then, she still wasn't quite sure, but she had survived it. For whatever reason, the boy from One hadn't thought she was worth coming after. And for now, that was good enough for her.

Suddenly, a beeping sound shook her from her thoughts, and a large, brightly-colored parachute floated towards her. Isabella nearly burst out laughing. A sponsor? Someone had decided to sponsor _her_? Sure, it made sense that with Owen gone, Woof would be focusing his efforts on trying to help her, but she was still surprised he'd managed to scrape together enough sponsors to send something to a tribute with a broken leg.

Besides, there wasn't really anything she _needed_. She had enough water to last her a good long time, and she had found some berries a while back. She still wasn't quite hungry enough to risk eating them, but she was getting there. Maybe that was why he was sending her something. Maybe the berries were poisonous, and he was trying to warn her not to eat them, or give her directions somewhere else, or maybe even send her food.

The parachute landed nearby, and Isabella grabbed hold of of it with one of her crutches, inching it towards her until she could grab hold of it. Attached to the parachute was a bundle of fresh clothes – all of them darker-colored and a bit less conspicuous than the silly clown outfits the tributes had been given. Okay. That was something. Attached to the parcel was a note. _Berries are fine. Eat up. Woof._

Isabella scooped the berries out of her pocket. That was good enough for her. In the morning, she could go back for more. Maybe even tonight, if she was feeling up to it later. Things certainly seemed to be going her way.

* * *

 **Decima Clear, 17  
** **District Two**

That certainly wasn't how she'd expected things to go. Decima shook her head as the last of the faces faded from the sky. Only four tributes dead. There had certainly been more cannons than that. At least that meant Confidence and Thalia were still alive, but where _were_ they? Thalia knew where she was. She should have returned hours ago. And there was no telling where Confidence might be.

Decima glanced at the tent she'd put back together. It had seemed like a good idea at the time – a good way to try to draw tributes in – but there didn't seem to be anyone around to take the bait. And the sky was clear. No sign of rain, which meant tributes wouldn't be scrambling around looking for shelter. The moon provided a little light, enough to see that there was no one else in the area.

Maybe it was time to head back to the cornucopia. If Thalia wasn't coming back to the tent, that was certainly where she would go – and where Confidence would have to return to eventually, if he was in need of food or water. It was certainly a better place to meet up with the others than a random tent in the middle of the arena.

Decima slung her backpack over her back, stuffed her sickle into one of the straps, picked up her spear, and headed back towards the cornucopia. Only four tributes dead. That wasn't what she'd been expecting. She and Thalia had been responsible for two of those deaths, after all – the boy from Three and the girl from Eleven. Only two other tributes, and at least eight or nine other cannons, by her count. What was going on?

Maybe it didn't matter. Her count was accurate now – and would be at the start of every night, even if something odd was happening with the cannons. Maybe it was a glitch. Maybe the Gamemakers were trying to throw them off, make them more likely to do something rash. If so, it didn't seem to be working. Still, she couldn't fault them for trying.

* * *

 **Merric Belgrave, 18  
** **District Four**

"I guess we weren't going crazy after all," Izzy muttered as the last of the faces faded from the sky. They'd found a tent to settle down in for the night, not too far from the water – but far enough that anyone who thought hunting around the log ride was a good idea probably wouldn't find them. For now, that was good enough. In the morning, they could worry about finding Dexter.

Because as long as they could trust the faces in the sky, he was still alive. And so were most of the other tributes, actually. Only nine of them were _really_ dead, and only four of them since the last time their faces had been shown. Izzy had fallen unusually silent, though. "Something wrong?" Merric asked.

Izzy shook her head. "No, it's just … Garth. He was helping us – me and Ichabod. They're both gone now. Dexter left. I've just got you now."

"We'll find Dexter tomorrow," Merric answered in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. The truth was, he didn't have the slightest idea where to start looking. Where would Dexter have gone? And why wouldn't he have told them where he was going?

Suddenly, there was a soft pinging noise, and a parachute landed outside the tent. Izzy rushed to grab it, then tossed the small package to Merric. "It's for you." Sure enough, the package had a "4" embroidered on the outside. Merric raised an eyebrow. What would Mags be sending? They had food, water, shelter – pretty much anything they could ask for unless she was sending them a way to find Dexter.

Not quite, Merric realized as he opened the package. It was a pair of glasses – night vision glasses, from the look of them. "What are we supposed to do with those?" Izzy asked.

Merric shrugged. "Have a look outside, I guess." He put them on, glancing one way and then another. Back towards the log ride, then towards the corn field, then towards the cornucopia.

Merric froze. He could see someone in the distance, a small figure heading towards the cornucopia. He was too far away to be _certain_ that it was Dexter, but why else would Mags have sent him these glasses right _now_? "What's he _doing_?" Merric hissed.

"Who?" Izzy asked.

"Dexter. He's heading for the cornucopia."

"What? Why?"

"Beats me."

A moment of silence, but then it was Izzy who put it together. "His leg."

"What about it?"

"Maybe it was worse than we thought. Maybe he needs medicine – and maybe he thinks he'll find something there."

That made sense. Almost. But it still didn't explain why he hadn't asked for their help, why he had left on his own. He had to realize that they would have a better chance of finding what they needed together. If the Careers were still at the cornucopia…

Merric looked again. He didn't _see_ any of the Careers. But that didn't mean that they weren't on the other side of the cornucopia, or _inside_ , for that matter. He'd pulled that trick himself, after all.

"We have to help him," Izzy whispered. "If there's someone there—"

"There's no way we'd get there in time," Merric whispered back.

Izzy put her hands on her hips. "Maybe not. But I'm _going_." She turned to leave. "If you want to stay, that's _fine_ , but I'm going to help him."

Merric stared for a moment, but then headed after her. There was no way he was going to let _both_ of his friends go to the cornucopia alone. Besides, if the other Careers _were_ around, they would need all the help they could get.

* * *

 **Dexter Guernsey, 13  
** **District Ten**

He was almost there. Dexter took a few more cautious steps towards the cornucopia. He'd been hiding behind the food cart nearby, waiting for it to get dark enough for him to sneak in, grab some medicine, and get out. Now he just had to work up the courage to actually _do_ it.

That was easier said than done, really. Sure, the poison in his leg might kill him in … what? Maybe a few days? Now that it came down to it, that wasn't nearly as frightening a thought as being killed by a Career right _now_.

But there didn't seem to be any Careers nearby. If there were, they were very well-hidden. And they didn't make a move as he crept a little closer to the mouth of the cornucopia. Then a little closer. Dexter took a deep breath. Okay. He was in. Now he just had to find what he needed and get out of here before anyone came back.

The trouble was going to be _finding_ what he needed. The Careers didn't appear to have gone through the trouble of sorting through the supplies in the cornucopia. Where _were_ the medical supplies? Dexter shifted a few weapons, looking through one backpack, and then another. This was taking too long. Making too much noise. Anyone nearby would know he was there. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't really see properly, and it wasn't helping that there was a shadow coming from the mouth of the cornucopia—

 _Shit_.

The shadow at the mouth of the cornucopia. Dexter turned in time to see the girl from Two watching him with a smirk on her face. "Find what you wanted?"

"No," Dexter admitted. _Stall. It worked the last time._ "Want to help me?"

"Oh, I'll help you, all right." The girl patted the spear in her hand. "In a few moments, you won't have to worry about whatever it was you were looking for. It'll all be over."

"But I … I did what you wanted. Well, what the other girl wanted. I found Merric. I know where he is. I can lead you to him."

"Why would I care about that?"

 _I don't know. The other girl seemed to._ But she was right. Why should she care any more about killing Merric than about killing him? "Don't you want to know how I got _this_?" He rolled up his pant leg, revealing the poison that was spreading even as they spoke. "The girl from one – your _ally_ – brushed me with her locket. It must be poisoned."

The girl hesitated. "You're lying. They would never let her bring something like that into the arena."

"Well, then how do you explain _this_? It's certainly not a normal infection." It had taken him a while to figure out what must have happened, but that seemed like the only explanation.

The girl shook her head. "I don't believe you."

"Suit yourself. Just be careful around her if you happen to get hurt."

The girl scoffed. "Thanks for the advice – advice I won't need if I don't get hurt in the first place."

She was right, of course. The only reason _he'd_ been hurt was because the girl from One had thrown her knife at him. A Career wouldn't be careless enough to let that happen. A Career wouldn't just let someone throw something at them or stab them in the back or—

Suddenly, the girl lurched forward, her spear clattering to the floor of the cornucopia. For a moment, Dexter thought maybe she was lunging at him, but then he saw the sickle embedded in her back. The sickle that, only a moment ago, had been hanging from her backpack. There, standing where the girl had been, was Izzy.

 _Boom._ As the cannon sounded, Merric came rushing up behind Izzy. "Izzy! Dexter! Are you all right?"

Dexter nodded shakily, taking a few steps towards Izzy. "I think we are now."

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

She still couldn't quite believe it. Merric wrapped an arm around Izzy's shoulders as she stood staring at the body beside her. One moment, the girl had been alive. She'd been talking to Dexter. _Threatening_ Dexter. She hadn't even noticed Izzy sneaking up behind her, stealing the weapon out of her own bag, and…

And stabbing her in the back. Izzy took a step back, trying not to throw up. "It's okay," Merric assured her. "It's okay to be sick. It's normal."

She certainly hoped so, because all the corn she'd eaten in the past few hours immediately came spewing back up. "I just … I couldn't let her hurt Dexter."

Dexter was beside her immediately. "I know. Thank you. You did what you had to. You saved my _life_."

Izzy turned on him. "And you're a complete _idiot_! What were you thinking – running off without us? Heading back to the cornucopia on your own? You could have been killed!"

"Better me than all three of us!"

"Do all three of us _look_ dead?" Izzy demanded. "You really think the three of us together couldn't handle one Career?"

"I didn't _know_ it was only going to be one Career," Dexter insisted.

"We still don't know that," Merric pointed out. "The others could be back soon – especially if they've heard any of this. So we'd better grab what we came for and get out of here."

"That's what I was _trying_ to do when she interrupted," Dexter pointed out, gesturing towards the body on the ground. "I couldn't find the medical supplies."

"Check the very back of the cornucopia," Merric offered. "That's usually where the Careers put them, for exactly this reason – it's the one thing we really want to make sure we keep to ourselves … which I could have _told_ you if you'd told me what you were planning."

Dexter quickly scrambled back into the cornucopia, and soon emerged with a large bag of medical supplies. "Right where you said," he admitted.

"I'll carry it," Merric offered. "Better to take the whole thing. We'll have time to sort it out later. In the meantime, grab some weapons. Izzy, are you all right?"

Izzy finally managed to nod. "I … I think I will be."

"Then grab something, and let's go."

Izzy nodded and grabbed a nearby backpack full of food, rope, and water bottles. Then she chose a small hatchet and pulled the sickle from the other girl's back. "I think I'm good."

As they made their way back to the tent, a sudden pinging noise filled the air. "Really?" Merric chuckled. "We have _literally_ everything we could ask for." He caught the small package anyway and handed it to Dexter. "Looks like this one's for you."

"What do you think it is?"

"Who knows? Maybe this bag doesn't have exactly what you needed, or—"

Dexter quickly unwrapped it the package to reveal a pair of knives. Merric chuckled. "Because we certainly didn't grab enough of those." He patted his pockets.

Dexter shook his head. "They're not because we need them. There are two of them. It's a message." He handed one to Merric and the other to Izzy. "He's trying to tell me to trust you next time … and I will. I promise."

* * *

 **Shasta Evans, 17  
** **District Nine**

 _Boom._ Another cannon … but he had no way of knowing, really, whether anyone was dead or not. At the very least, it didn't seem to be anyone near him. That would have to be good enough for now.

Shasta ate a few more of the crackers from his pack and drank some of the water. Things were going pretty well, all things considered. Two days of the Games, and the worst thing that had happened to him was getting chased up a carousel by a snake. It could certainly be worse – a _lot_ worse. For at least nine tributes – or ten, if the last cannon had been real – things were _definitely_ worse.

Shasta stretched a little, heading for the train in the distance. It seemed to have stopped for the moment, so it would be as good a place as any to settle down for the night. The girl from Six had jumped out of the train earlier, which meant that at least some of the cars were open. He would just have to find the right one…

It didn't take him long. Soon, he'd found an open compartment and quickly closed the doors behind him. Anyone who looked at the train would have no way of knowing he was inside. With any luck, he would be safe here until morning.

Still, he didn't want to chance it. Shasta tucked the pills back into his pack. He had no way of knowing how long they would have to last him, and his back didn't feel _that_ bad today. Maybe the pills took a while to wear off. Either way, he could certainly stretch out more than he'd been able to last night.

Just as he lay down, though, the train began to move – a gentle rumbling beneath him. Almost like humming. Shasta smiled drowsily, humming to himself. " _The wheels on the train go clickity-clack, all through the town…"_

* * *

 **Troy Arrowhead, 15  
** **District Twelve**

At least Alexia and Freya were still alive. Troy shook his head as he stumbled forward in the dark. First, Martha was dead. Now Emilia. Maybe the two of them hadn't been particularly close, but they'd been allies. District partners. And now he was separated from everyone _else_ he had considered an ally, as well. He was safe – at least for the moment – but he would have no one to watch his back if he decided to try to get some sleep.

Troy shook his head. That just meant he would have to stay awake. He could probably manage that. He'd gotten plenty of sleep the night before, after all. He, Alexia, and Freya had kept trading watches well into the morning. He could keep going for a while yet.

But keep going _where_? He _did_ want to keep moving – that much, he was certain of. But he was also pretty sure that he'd ended up doubling back at some point. The hill with the logs in front of him looked _very_ familiar.

Suddenly, he saw something – some _one_ , from the look of it, hunched over beside one of the corn stalks nearby. Picking some corn, maybe? Troy took a step closer. Whoever they were, they certainly didn't seem particularly concerned about being seen. What if someone else found them? Someone who was actually looking for a fight? "You might want to hide," Troy called softly, hoping they would take the hint.

Instead, the figure turned towards him, eyes glowing, pale face shining in the moonlight. A mutt! Troy took off running immediately, only to see two more of the clown mutts emerging from the corn field behind him. Troy ran faster. This was _not_ how he wanted to go. Sure, maybe he'd always been a bit of a comedian, but that didn't mean he wanted to be killed by _clowns_.

He didn't want to be killed by _anything_ , of course, but clowns certainly wouldn't have been his first choice.

Faster. Faster. The clowns were still behind him, but they didn't seem to be getting any closer, as if they weren't really interested in catching him. That could only mean one thing – they were actually herding him towards something else. Probably some _one_ else. But at the moment, he didn't care. He did exactly what he was supposed to – he kept running.

* * *

 **Confidence Best, 16  
** **District One**

Maybe it was time to leave the ship. Even if he'd managed to fool a couple tributes with the cannons earlier, they knew the truth now. Besides, he was getting hungry. When he'd stormed away from the cornucopia, he hadn't brought any food. In fact, he hadn't brought anything but the mace and flail he'd grabbed from the bloodbath. There was plenty of water around the pirate ship, and he'd found a few potatoes below decks, but it was probably time to head back to the cornucopia and get some _real_ food.

Confidence took one last look around to make sure he wasn't leaving anything important. He'd stuffed a few of the potatoes in his pockets, and he had both his mace and flail. That would be more than enough to handle any tribute he came across until he got back to the cornucopia.

He couldn't help wondering if anyone would still be there. When he'd received the map from the sponsors last night, it had said that Thalia and Decima were hunting. Were they still hunting, or had they returned? What would happen if they returned and he wasn't there? Would they assume that he wasn't coming back?

Would it matter if they did? Confidence smirked as he leapt off the ship. It wasn't as if he'd been doing so bad on his own. Sure, he didn't have any kills yet, but it was only a matter of time. He _could_ have killed the girl from Eight, after all. Maybe she was still nearby.

If she had any sense, of course, she was as far away as she could get. But there were probably other tributes in the area. There was a pond in the distance; that was probably a good place for them to settle down for the night. So that was where he would go.

As soon as he got closer to the pond, he could see that he'd made the right choice. Someone was sitting by the pond, curled up tightly in the cold but not yet asleep. Maybe afraid to go to sleep in case someone found them.

Someone like _him_.

Just as he was getting closer, however, the tribute turned around and leapt to her feet. Maybe he'd made a noise. Maybe she was just getting nervous. Either way, the girl from Ten grabbed her weapon – a trident that she probably didn't have the slightest idea how to use properly. She seemed to be deciding whether she should try to run or fight.

Confidence took a step closer, and the girl made up her mind, charging at him with her trident raised – maybe hoping to startle him enough that he wouldn't be able to respond. What a mistake. Confidence swung his flail, the metal head connecting with the end of the trident. The girl staggered back, startled, as he swung again – this time with his mace. She took another step back towards the pond. Confidence advanced. This was going to be too easy.

Another swing knocked the trident from the girl's grasp. As she lunged to pick it up from where it had dropped into the water, he swung again, the end of the flail connecting with her shoulder. The girl staggered backwards, stumbling, falling into the water with a splash. Confidence raised his mace to deliver another blow.

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

Just as the boy was about to bring his mace down again, she saw something behind him. Troy gave a shout as the clown mutts that were following him splashed into the water. "Alexia! Get up!"

The mace came down – just in time to smash a clown mutt in the head. Alexia staggered to her feet, pain shooting through her shoulder as she reached for the trident. "I've got it," Troy insisted. "Let's get out of here!"

She was too tired, too afraid, and in too much pain to argue. A small voice in the back of her mind wondered whether they should stay and try to fight the boy together, but it wasn't worth taking the chance that the mutts might turn on them once he was no longer available. As it was, the mutts were distracting him enough for them to make a clean getaway.

The boy swung his mace again, decapitating one of the clowns as Alexia and Troy ran. Alexia clutched her shoulder as she followed Troy in the dark. "Wait," she gasped as she realized which direction they were going. "We're running _towards_ the cornucopia!"

"Shit," Troy muttered, and immediately changed course, heading south towards the corn field in the distance. They would just have to hope that there wasn't anybody there right now – or that if they were, they wouldn't want to fight two tributes who were armed and might at least _appear_ to be dangerous.

Alexia shook the thought from her head, trying desperately to keep up with Troy as they ran. "Wait," she gasped at last, finally unable to take any more. "Wait. Just wait a moment."

Troy slowed down and finally came to a stop at the edge of the corn field. "I think we lost him anyway."

Alexia nodded. She hoped that was true. "Let's … let's find a place to rest in the field," she suggested, clutching her shoulder. The moon would give them enough light to see where the path was, and they probably wouldn't find a better spot. There was food. They already knew where there was water. Now if she could just do something about her shoulder…

"Let me have a look," Troy offered before realizing what a useless offer that was in the dark. He came a little closer, anyway. There wasn't any blood, but even in the dark she could see that her skin was bruising. It certainly felt like something was broken; moving her left arm at all hurt like hell. At least it wasn't her right, but still. Injured tributes didn't usually last long in the Games.

On the other hand, at least as of a few hours ago, the girl from Eight with a broken _leg_ was still alive somewhere. How she'd managed that, Alexia wasn't sure, but if _she_ could do it…

Troy thought for a moment, then swung the backpack off his back. How the hell did he still have that when those clowns had been chasing him? He took one of the daggers and quickly began slicing away at the backpack, making a makeshift sling and quickly fitting it around her arm. "There. Now just … try not to move it."

Right. Try not to move her arm while she was fighting for her life. But it wasn't as if there was anything else they could do about it. Alexia nodded. "Thanks. Now let's find somewhere a bit safer to rest."

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

The noise across the pond revealed that the boy was still fighting the clown mutts. Wade slowly crept a little farther down the lake. He'd been hiding near some rocks when the boy had attacked Alexia. For a moment, he'd thought about trying to help. About defending her because … what? Because she'd been nice to him? Because she'd helped him catch a fish? That had been nice, but it wasn't worth risking his life over – not when a fight would likely have ended with _him_ dead, as well.

As it was, he was alive. Alexia was hurt, but running away along with the boy from Twelve. And the boy from One was demolishing the last of the clown mutts. Wade crept a little farther away, trying to keep quiet. He'd just wanted to find somewhere _safe_ to spend the night. Now…

 _Okay. Just think._ He'd seen a shelter by the pond earlier – something with a roof, at least. That would certainly be a good spot in case it started to rain again. Sure, the skies were clear _now,_ but that could change quickly. Those clown mutts had come out of nowhere, after all. There was no telling what was going to happen next.

As he crept closer to the shelter, however, Wade could see that there was already someone there, wrapped up in a thin blanket that was hiding their face, shivering in the cold. Maybe they hadn't been as lucky as he had last night when it had rained. Maybe they were still wet from getting soaked the night before.

Wade took a few steps closer, pulling his blanket a little tighter. Whoever it was, they were well-armed. There was a sword nearby, along with a backpack of food. Maybe he should kill them. He _could_ , after all. He'd done it the night before. But…

But that had been because he'd wanted the blanket. He'd needed a way to keep himself warm. Now … now, what he really needed was protection. If he was going to survive much longer, he would need an ally or two. 'Take care of yourself,' Alexia had told him, 'or find someone else who will.' What if he had found someone? They had the weapons and supplies to help him; he had a blanket and knew where there was food and water. Maybe…

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

Thalia rolled over a little under her blanket. It seemed warmer than it had been. It couldn't be morning already, though. It was still dark. So what…?

She opened her eyes to find that her own blanket had been covered with a warmer, thicker one, and there was someone … someone lying next to her? Thalia rubbed her eyes. Had Decima found her? Or Confidence, maybe? But surely either of them would have woken her up and made sure one of them was keeping watch?

She peered closer in the dark. No, the boy who had settled down with her wasn't one of the other Careers. He was one of the younger tributes, in fact. It was hard to tell in the dark, from this awkward angle, but it was certainly one of the younger boys. What was he thinking?

Thalia quickly ran through the possibilities in her mind. Maybe he had been cold, and desperate, and hadn't cared _who_ he was huddling with. But he'd apparently had a fairly warm blanket. Maybe he'd been too tired to realize there was already someone here. But he'd spread the blanket over her, as well. Maybe he was delirious. But he didn't seem to be injured. Just … asleep.

Part of her was tempted to reach for her katana. She could finish him off quickly enough. But something held her back. He'd obviously had the chance to kill _her_ , after all. Even if he didn't have a weapon, her own weapons had been lying next to her when he'd arrived. He could have killed her. But he hadn't. Why?

She wanted to know. But she also didn't want to wake him, to startle him. He might have a weapon tucked somewhere nearby. Even if he hadn't killed her before, there was no telling what he might do if startled suddenly out of his sleep.

Thalia held back a yawn. She was too tired to try to make sense of it. She could deal with him in the morning. He would still be here, and killing him then would be easy enough. She closed her eyes and snuggled a little closer to the boy, who rolled a little closer in turn, his eyes not even blinking open. By the time she fell asleep, he was starting to snore.

* * *

 **Freya Clearwater, 17  
** **District Four**

There didn't seem to be a good spot to spend the night _anywhere_. Every time she thought she'd found a perfect place, she thought better of it. One place was too open, too exposed. Another was too closed-off, too obvious of a hiding place – the first place the Careers would look if they were hunting for her.

They knew by now, of course, that she wasn't dead. Whatever had been happening with the cannons the day before, it was a trick that would only work once. And when they found her, she had no doubt they wouldn't be happy that she had escaped them once.

No, not _when_ they found her. Only _if_ they found her. All she had to do was find the perfect place to hide for the night. Then she could worry about what might happen in the morning.

Freya glanced around, confused, as she neared a carousel. She could have sworn there was a Ferris wheel in this area. She'd passed one, but that had been before she'd crossed the train tracks, and they seemed to run around a good portion of the arena. She couldn't have crossed back over without noticing. But an entire Ferris wheel couldn't have just _disappeared_.

No. No, it hadn't disappeared, she realized as she drew a little closer. It had _collapsed_. What had made it fall, she couldn't be sure, but there was definitely enough debris to tell that was what had happened. The capsules were strewn all over, mostly intact. The beams that had held it up seemed to have been rammed into by … something.

Whatever it was, she hoped it wasn't still around.

Okay. Okay, maybe this debris was a good place to hide, then. No one would look under _there_. They would just assume that anyone buried under there was dead. Freya ventured a little closer. Yes, that would be just the thing.

Suddenly, she heard something. Something that sounded almost like … like breathing. "Hello?" Freya called, her voice a little above a whisper. "Is someone there?"

"Over here!" a voice called back, a bit strained but definitely alive.

"Who is it?" Freya called, trying to keep her voice down. Trying not to draw in anyone _else_ – anyone who might want to kill them rather than help them. But she needed the other tribute to keep talking if she wanted to find him.

After a moment, the voice answered. "Carlisle."

She was getting closer. "I'm Freya."

"Glad you came along." Finally, she saw him, lying face-down amid the debris, his legs pinned beneath one of the capsules. "I tried to shove it off, but … well, bad angle," he muttered. "Mind lending a hand?"

She didn't even think twice. She hurried over to the capsule and tried to lift it. When that failed, she grabbed one of the larger poles from the debris, dragged it over, and wedged it under the edge of the capsule. "Ready?" she asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

Fair enough. She pushed down on the lever, raising the capsule as high as she could. Slowly, the boy squirmed out from underneath, and Freya let go. Carlisle cringed, leaning back against the capsule. "Thanks."

* * *

 **Carlisle Talbot, 18  
** **District Six**

Carlisle cringed as the feeling slowly returned to his legs. They'd been pinned since the carousel had collapsed, and had quickly fallen asleep. Now that sensation was returning, pain came with it. "Is anything broken?" Freya asked.

"Damned if I know," Carlisle muttered. "I'm not a doctor." She obviously meant well – otherwise, she would have killed him rather than helping. He knew he shouldn't snap at her, but it _hurt_. He wasn't sure if that meant something was broken, but everything felt bruised. "Stupid cow," he mumbled.

"Well, if that's the way you feel about it—"

Carlisle almost burst out laughing. "Not _you_." He pointed towards the flattened bull beneath the debris from the carousel. " _That_. Damn thing was chasing me, so I lured it towards the Ferris wheel and figured maybe if it ran into the poles enough … Didn't time it right, though. I mean, I avoided the actual wheel, but didn't think about the fact that the capsules would break loose." He cringed. "Stupid."

"You didn't really have any other options," Freya offered.

"Doesn't mean it wasn't stupid," Carlisle pointed out. "Sometimes you only _have_ stupid options." Slowly, leaning against the capsule, he got to his feet. His legs were more than a little wobbly, and _everything_ hurt, but at least he could stand. "That means nothing's broken, right?"

Freya shrugged. "Do I look like _I'm_ a doctor?"

Carlisle chuckled. "Well, thank you … whatever you are."

"You're welcome."

Carlisle slumped back to the ground. "What brings you out here?"

"I was looking for somewhere to take shelter for the night."

Carlisle shrugged. "You can stay here, if you like."

"You mean it?"

Carlisle hesitated. _Did_ he mean it? Alliances hadn't really seemed to be working out for him so far. He'd been working with Cosima during training, but he hadn't seen her since the start of the Games. He'd been on pretty good terms with Clemence, but trying to protect her had only driven him away.

Still, what else could he say? "Of course I mean it. You just saved my life, I'm sure. If a mutt had come along – or a tribute who wasn't so inclined to help – I'd be dead by now."

Freya smirked. "Well, lucky for you, I'm a sucker."

"I guess that makes two of us," Carlisle admitted, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the capsule. Every day since the reaping had seemed to be one stupid decision after another, but they all stemmed back to that one moment.

Carlisle almost flinched away when he felt Freya's hand in his. _Almost_. He opened his eyes and looked up, surprised. "I can take the first watch," Freya offered, giving his hand a squeeze. "Get some rest."

He was in too much pain to argue. Carlisle nodded a little and lay down, still grasping her hand tightly as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

It was well into the night when she finally settled down by the pond. Cosima glanced at the pile of what seemed to be … clowns? Or, at least, parts of clowns. For a moment, she had assumed they were body parts – what with the tributes' silly outfits and all – but they seemed stiffer than that. One good kick had revealed that they were, in fact, mechanical. Robots of some sort. Robot mutts.

Why not? Everything else in the arena seemed a bit … off, so why not the mutts? The cannons couldn't seem to get their count right, there were candy apples instead of normal ones, and kids from District Ten were teaming up with Careers. Nothing seemed to be going the way anyone would have expected.

Cosima gave one of the clown arms a kick and slumped down into a seat beside them. Maybe this was as good a place as any to settle down for the night. Someone who was passing might mistake her for one of the mutts and simply let her be. Maybe. It was a long shot, but she couldn't stay awake forever. And she didn't want to climb another tree – not after the rain the night before. Everything was slippery and wet now.

Including the ground she was sitting on. Cosima shifted a little, trying to find a better position and eventually settling for sitting on one of the rocks. But that wouldn't do if she actually wanted to lie down. Slowly, she began rearranging the clown mutts, stripping off some of the fabric from their outfits and making a makeshift bed.

"That's quite a collection you've got there."

Cosima leapt to her feet, startled, to see the girl from Six standing behind her. "What the hell?"

"Sorry," the girl apologized. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't scare me!" Cosima protested.

The girl giggled a little. "Sure."

Cosima glared. "Look, just get out of here before—"

"Before _what_? Doesn't look like you're armed."

"What makes you think I'd need to be?" Cosima asked. "I took care of these mutts, didn't I?"

The girl chuckled. "Sure you did."

Cosima clenched her fists. Had it been that obvious of a lie? "Look, you don't want to stay here."

"Why not?"

"Because … because of the moon."

"The moon?"

Cosima smirked. "Oh, so you _don't_ know."

The younger girl plopped down on the ground beside her. "Know what?"

* * *

 **Clemence Aldrin, 14  
** **District Six**

"The moon is full," the older girl observed, pointing up at the sky. "Do you know what happens when the moon is full … especially if you're by a lake?"

Clemence raised an eyebrow. "That's not a lake. It's a pond."

"Close enough. It's _water_ , and water's the thing. It's where they live."

"Where what live?"

"The ghosts of all the tributes who have drowned in an arena."

Clemence chuckled. "That's not very many of them. Well, I guess there was that one year when the arena was a swamp, but—"

"Exactly," the other girl continued. "There aren't very many of them … yet. Which is why they're always looking for more victims."

Clemence shook her head. "I don't remember—"

"Oh, they haven't shown their faces in recent years. You probably aren't old enough to remember. I'm _barely_ old enough to remember it – the faces of the ghosts that appeared to drag the tributes down into the water."

"So … mutts?" Clemence reasoned.

"That's what we're _supposed_ to think. But the tributes they picked … they weren't tributes the Gamemakers would have targeted. A few of them were Careers. Another stronger outer-district tribute who was a favorite with the audience. The Gamemakers wouldn't have singled them out, but _ghosts_ … Ghosts don't play favorites."

Clemence leaned forward a little as the girl sat down beside her. "You're good at this."

The girl's expression hardened. "At what?"

"Storytelling. Seriously, this is great. Keep going. What happened to the tributes who were dragged under?"

"They drowned."

Clemence chuckled. "Oh, come _on_. You can do better than that."

The girl sat down across from her. "You think _you_ can do better?"

Clemence smiled. "Sure I do. There wasn't any discernible pattern to who they were targeting … or, at least, there didn't seem to be. But then one tribute – let's call him Brom."

"Why Brom?"

"Story I heard once. Don't interrupt. So this tribute named Brom Bones, he was nervous when he saw the water in the arena, because he remembered a tribute from the year before being drowned. Being drowned, as it happened, by the boy from _Brom's_ district. So he avoided the water as long as he could … but eventually, he was thirsty. He approached the water cautiously, bent down to take a drink of water. But instead of his _own_ reflection—"

"He saw the face of the girl who had drowned the year before," the other girl finished.

"Precisely. For a moment, they stared at each other, and he _understood_. The ghosts of the tributes didn't just want others to join them. They wanted _revenge_. Revenge on the district that had killed them. So when the ghost dragged him down into the water, Brom knew. He knew he would last _exactly_ as long as the girl had – down to the second. The seconds ticked away, and he could see himself fading … fading into one of _them_."

The other girl shuddered. "You're pretty good at this, too." She held out her hand. "Cosima."

"Clemence."

Cosima hesitated. "Nobody last year drowned, right?"

Clemence giggled. "Not that I remember." She smiled. "Want to tell another one?"

* * *

 **This is probably as good a place as any to drop both a retroactive and preemptive apology for any and all actions that seem out of character. Thalia's probably been the biggest victim of this, but Isabella and Wade also come to mind. Sometimes there's just no good justification for something that, because of the way the simulation turned out, _has_ to happen. I'm trying. **¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 **Anyways ... More snuggling, singing, and hand-holding to come. In the meantime, here's where we stand:**

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.**

 **20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.**

 **19th - Stanley Newton, D3. Stabbed with a katana by Thalia Gold.**

 **18th - Cherry Thatch, D11. Stabbed with a spear by Decima Clear.**

 **17th - Garth Kain, D11. Stomach and throat sliced by Carlisle Talbot.**

 **16th - Emilia Rey Fumero, D12. Stabbed in the back by Wade Larthey.**

 **15th - Decima Clear, D2. Stabbed in the back by Izzy Thatcher.**

* * *

 **District Placements:**

 **12th - District 11 - Best Placement: 17th**

 **11th - District 2 - Best Placement: 15th**


	30. Day Three - Double Down

**Day Three  
** **Double Down**

* * *

 _Double down: To double a bet after seeing one's initial cards._

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

"What the hell is going on here?" Thalia recognized Confidence's voice before she even opened her eyes. The boy next to her was squirming, trying to get away, but Confidence held him fast. "What's he doing here?"

 _Shit_. She had a vague memory of letting the boy come and huddle with her the night before, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember _why_. It had seemed like a good idea at the time – having a little extra warmth – but it had obviously been the wrong move. Now she had to come up with a good reason why she hadn't already killed the kid…

"He's with us now," she blurted out before she could think twice. "You know the boy from Eleven?"

"Yeah."

Thalia shrugged. "He killed him. Saved my life. He's a good fighter." It was a load of crap, of course, and she was taking a gamble. She was assuming that _Confidence_ hadn't been the one to kill the boy from Eleven. She could have said the girl from Eleven or the boy from Three, of course, but when they found Decima again, she would know better than to believe that.

For a moment, Confidence said nothing, and she was sure he was going to object. But then he shrugged. "So what's in it for us?"

"I know where some of the other tributes are hiding," the boy blurted out before she could come up with a better answer. "That was the deal – I got to stay with her for the night, and in the morning, I lead you to them."

Confidence raised an eyebrow. "Fair's fair." But Thalia knew better. Sure, he would let the boy lead them to the other tributes – assuming there _were_ other tributes to lead them to – but once he outlived his usefulness, he was as good as dead.

But that wasn't her problem. Not really. She didn't owe him anything. Sure, he could have killed her the night before when he'd found her, but the reverse was also true. She'd had plenty of opportunities to kill him during the night, and she hadn't taken them.

Thalia got up slowly, taking her Katana and handing a hatchet to the boy. "I think this was yours." It wasn't, of course, but Confidence was never going to believe the boy had killed anyone without a weapon.

Confidence turned his mace over in his hands, as if deciding whether to wait until later or just finish the boy off now. "What's your name, kid?"

"Wade."

Confidence smirked. "Well, Wade, lead the way."

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

What had he been thinking? Wade turned the hatchet over in his hand, trying to hide the fact that his hands were shaking. When he'd settled down the night before, he hadn't realized the other tribute was a _Career_. Now he was … what? Their ally? No. No, they knew better than that. He wasn't sure why the girl had lied for him, but he couldn't risk trusting them. They certainly didn't consider him one of the pack.

Not that he'd wanted to be. He'd just wanted somewhere warm and dry to spend the night. Now he would have to hope that he could live up to his promise to lead them to … someone. But who? Alexia had run off with the boy from Twelve, but he had no idea _where_ they had gone. And even if he had, would he really tell them?

Yes. Wade clutched the hatchet tightly as he led them off to the left. West – away from the rising sun. At least the sun wouldn't be in their eyes. That was something. But he had no idea if there _were_ any tributes in this direction. If there weren't, how long would they let him lead them on a wild goose chase before they decided to just finish him off?

 _Just think._ He could see a tent in the distance. Maybe there was someone there. If there wasn't, maybe he could pretend that was where they _had_ been and try to lead them off somewhere else. Maybe he could kick over one of the tent poles and distract them. Maybe…

Yeah. And maybe an army of mutts would arrive to save him. Maybe the two Careers would get annoyed and turn on each other. Any number of things could happen, but they didn't seem at all likely. There probably wouldn't be anyone there. He was probably going to die.

Wade swallowed hard, surprised by how much that bothered him. Ever since he'd been reaped, he'd been expecting to die. He'd certainly never expected to make it to the third day of the Games. Emerson was dead. For all he knew, Dexter was, too. He hadn't seen his ally's face in the sky yet, but there had been a cannon since then. Everyone else around him seemed to be dying, or getting attacked or swarmed by mutts or _something_. He'd gotten lucky so far.

He should have known it couldn't last. He'd been prepared, only the day before, to die when Alexia had found him. But once she'd let him live … He'd begun to think that maybe, just _maybe_ , he had a chance. Maybe he could get lucky enough.

Maybe he still would. But that was beginning to look less and less likely. The boy from One was tapping his mace on his hand impatiently. If they didn't find someone soon…

Suddenly, Wade saw the flap of the tent move. "Shh," he whispered. "That tent up ahead. That's where they are." He had no way of knowing, of course, whether that was true. It could just as easily have been the wind that had moved the flap, or a mutt, or anything else. But maybe he would get lucky. Maybe…

Slowly, careful not to make too much of a noise, they moved closer. "I'll scare them out," Wade whispered. "You go around the front, and I'll make a noise from behind – drive them right to you."

The girl turned to the boy, who shrugged. "Why not?" Even if he'd bought that nonsense about him killing the boy from Eleven, there was no way that the boy would be convinced that he was a better fighter than a pair of _Careers_. "Let's do it," the boy from One agreed.

Slowly, Wade crept behind the back of the tent. All he had to do was make some sort of a noise and hope that someone was inside. Hope that they ran out. If not, he was done for.

* * *

 **Merric Belgrave, 18  
** **District Four**

"There they are!" a voice shouted. A voice that was coming from the other side of the tent. _Behind_ the tent. Merric glanced frantically at Izzy and Dexter. Izzy's eyes were wide, but Dexter only looked confused.

"I know that voice," he whispered. "It's Wade."

"Wade?" Merric asked. "The boy from Five?"

"Yeah."

"Who was working with him?"

" _I_ was," Dexter shrugged. "Emerson and I were, before the bloodbath. Now … I don't know. Could be anyone. Could be no one."

"Then who's he shouting to?" Izzy hissed.

Dexter shrugged. "Beats me. Maybe he's just trying to scare us away so he can have the tent."

Merric chuckled a little. If that was the case, there was no reason not to humor him. There was nothing special about the tent, and they had all the supplies they needed. "Grab your stuff, then," Merric suggested. "Let's go."

As soon as he took a step outside, however, he knew it was the wrong choice. Confidence's mace narrowly missed his head, colliding with one of the tent poles instead and collapsing the front of the tent just as the three of them ducked out. "Run!" Merric called to the other two as Thalia swung her katana at the three of them. Maybe Dexter had been wrong about Wade being the one who shouted. Maybe he was working with the Careers. Maybe he'd just happened to be in the same area.

Merric drew the dagger he'd tucked in his belt and charged towards Thalia. But she was already running after Izzy. Merric gripped his dagger, tempted to run after her. But that would mean leaving Dexter alone with Confidence – and his leg still wasn't completely healed. He would just have to hope Izzy was quick enough to get away.

Merric turned his attention back to Confidence, who lunged towards Dexter. "You're not getting away this time, Ten."

Merric stepped between the two of them, shoving Dexter out of the way and dodging Confidence's mace. "Oh, I think we are, because we've got a secret weapon. That kid you teamed up with?"

"What kid?"

Merric smirked. He would just have to hope Dexter was right about the voice. "Wade. He's with us."

Confidence scoffed. "Maybe he _was_." He nodded towards the shape disappearing in the distance. Sure enough, it looked like the boy from Five – short, dark-haired, and a little bit pudgy. So much for that idea.

Merric dodged the next blow, hoping at least to give Dexter a chance to run. But Dexter stayed put, gripping his sickle he'd taken from the cornucopia, waiting for the right moment. Merric dodged again, circling, striking in Confidence's direction, trying to get him to turn his back to Dexter. But he knew better. He wasn't going to be fooled by something that obvious.

But there was something else he'd forgotten. Merric took another step back towards the tent, swinging his dagger, dodging Confidence's flail. The end of the flail was swinging wildly. All he had to do was position himself at just the right angle. Confidence turned, keeping his eye on both Merric and Dexter, but forgetting—

Merric ducked just as Confidence swung, and the flail smashed into one of the poles of the tent, spraying splinters everywhere. Confidence took a step back, shielding his eyes and dropping his flail in the process, which gave Dexter the chance to leap forward, his sickle slicing across Confidence's arm. Confidence growled as the boy leapt towards him, his sickle raised. The sudden weight knocked him over, and Dexter landed on top of him, gripping his weapon.

One moment. Then another. Dexter hesitated. That was all Confidence needed. With one quick movement, he rolled out from under Dexter and took off running, clutching his arm. Merric breathed a sigh of relief. Dexter was safe. They were both safe. He took a deep breath, clapping Dexter on the back. "Good work." He just hoped Izzy had gotten as lucky.

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

She couldn't even turn around long enough to stop and look back. Izzy gasped for breath as she ran past the cornucopia. Maybe the girl would be distracted enough by the body of her ally – if it was still there – that she would lose track of where Izzy was. But she didn't dare look back and find out. She had to keep running.

There hadn't been any cannons yet, which meant that Merric and Dexter must have gotten lucky, too. Izzy clutched her knife tightly – the knife that Dexter had given her after he'd received his sponsor gift. The knife meant that they were supposed to trust each other. They were supposed to help each other, protect each other.

But Merric had said to _run_. Why hadn't he followed?

In hindsight, it was obvious. He hadn't run because Dexter _couldn't_ run. Not yet. They'd found some medicine for his leg, but it still wasn't completely healed. Certainly not healed enough to outrun the Careers. So Merric had stayed to protect him, and she had run. Izzy brushed the tears from her eyes. That was _two_ groups of allies she'd left now. She'd left Ichabod and Garth during the bloodbath, and now they were both dead. Now she'd left Merric and Dexter, too.

 _Stop it._ They were still alive. There hadn't been any cannons. But what did that mean? Did that mean they were still fighting? Surely _someone_ was going to die – if not Merric and Dexter, then the boy from One, if they managed to kill him. What could have happened that they were _all_ still alive?

Or maybe it was the cannons. If the day before had proven anything, it was that they couldn't really trust the cannons to keep track of how many tributes were still left. The faces in the sky at the end of the day were probably accurate, but she didn't want to wait _that_ long to find out whether her allies had survived.

Izzy finally glanced behind her. The girl from One was still there in the distance, but she seemed to have stopped at the cornucopia. If she thought that Izzy was slowing down, however, she might decide it was worth coming over her, after all. Izzy clenched her fists tightly as she kept running. She had to get away. She had to be able to make it back to the others.

Away from the cornucopia. Away from the Careers. Farther away from Merric and Dexter, as well, but she could double back later, once she was sure it was safe. Once she was sure the girl from One wouldn't come after her. Izzy gasped as she saw a cluster of bushes up ahead. That would be a good enough place to stop. Maybe she could hide behind them for a while…

Just as she passed the bushes, however, she realized someone else had had the same idea. Another tribute leapt out suddenly and threw her to the ground, sickle in hand. The sickle came down, and she barely managed to roll out of the way in time to keep it from piercing through her neck. As it was, it plunged into her shoulder. Izzy screamed. "Wait! Wait, please!"

* * *

 **Carlisle Talbot, 18  
** **District Six**

It was the 'please' that made him hesitate. Only for a moment, but that was enough. Enough to give the girl time to squirm out from under his grasp and run off again. Carlisle tossed his sickle to the ground, disgusted. Why had he hesitated? He certainly hadn't thought twice about killing the boy from Eleven.

But the boy from Eleven had been about to hurt Clemence. Or, at least, he had _thought_ the boy was about to hurt Clemence. Whether the boy would actually have done anything to harm his district partner, Carlisle wasn't sure – and that was the point. This girl hadn't done anything to him. _Wouldn't_ have done anything to him. If he hadn't jumped out at her, she would just have kept running.

Carlisle leaned back against the bushes, frustrated. He'd been hoping that maybe if he made another kill, Bertie would be able to scrape together enough sponsors to send him something for his legs. There was nothing that would magically make his bruises go away, but they could send him something for the pain. But not if he kept letting tributes _go._

Freya, however, didn't seem the least bit bothered. "That was kind of you."

Kind. That was exactly what it had been. It had been _kind_. But kind was the one thing tributes couldn't afford to be in the arena. Kind was dangerous. Kind got people killed.

And he didn't want that to happen to him. Carlisle shook his head. As much as it hurt now, as much as he'd figured that he didn't have much to lose back in District Six, he still didn't _want_ to die. Maybe he didn't have as much to live for as some of the other tributes, but a life was a life. He could figure out what to _do_ with it if he survived.

"Thanks," he muttered anyway, shaking his head as the two of them rearranged the branches in the bushes again, hiding the little camp they'd set up behind it. Freya still had a few of the candy apples that she'd gathered, but they would have to find some more food soon if they wanted to keep up their strength.

Right. Keep up their strength. But what good was that strength going to do if they didn't have the guts to do what they had to do to survive?

"Don't beat yourself up about it," Freya advised. "You'll get another chance."

Carlisle raised an eyebrow. "Will I?"

"It's only a matter of time before we run into someone."

"And what makes you so sure I'll have what it takes then?"

"It's what you volunteered for."

"You, too … but how many tributes have _you_ killed?"

"None," Freya admitted. "You?"

Carlisle looked away. Why couldn't he tell her? He'd been defending his district partner, after all, when he'd killed the other boy. That was something she would understand – wasn't it? And she'd just been telling him that he would have what it took, when the time came. Surely she wouldn't think less of him if she knew that he already _had_ proven he had what it took.

And why did he care, anyway, what she thought? It wasn't as if they were friends. Sure, she'd helped him the night before, but the truth was she was going to have to die eventually if he wanted to go home. Someone would have to kill _her_ , just like he'd killed the boy from Eleven.

* * *

 **Freya Clearwater, 17  
** **District Four**

He didn't even need to say it. Freya inhaled sharply as she realized what was obvious in his face. "You _have_ killed someone."

Carlisle finally nodded. "Yes."

"When?"

"The first night, while I was in the train station over that way." He pointed to the west. "I was in the upper level, and my district partner, Clemence, was downstairs. I heard her scream, and I ran downstairs. I saw a boy with a dagger, with blood dripping from it, and I thought he was going to kill her."

"So you killed him."

Carlisle shook his head. "I didn't just _kill_ him. I butchered him. I sliced him so many times with _this_ that his family probably wouldn't even have recognized him." He threw his sickle to the ground. "I did it once. Why couldn't I do it again?"

"Maybe it's not so easy the second time," Freya offered quietly. "Because now you know what it's going to feel like."

Carlisle shook his head. "But I'll _have_ to do it again. That's what the Games _are_. That's how you survive. I knew that when I volunteered – and so did you."

"But neither of us volunteered because we wanted to kill," Freya pointed out. She had volunteered because she'd wanted to save her mother. And Carlisle … despite his attitude, it had been obvious from the start that he'd only been trying to save his mentor's son.

"But we accepted it," Carlisle countered. "We knew what we were volunteering for. We accepted that in order to save the person we wanted to save, others would have to die." He leaned back a little against the bushes. "Well, I guess _you_ did, at least."

Freya wasn't quite sure what to say to that. He was right, of course. He'd already accomplished his goal. Bertie's son was safe. But in order for her mother to live, volunteering had only been the first step. She actually had to _win_ in order to make a difference.

Or Merric. Merric had said that he would give her family the money, if he won. That was something, at least. And the last she'd seen, he was still alive. There had only been one cannon since the four faces had appeared in the sky the night before. What were the chances that the cannon had been his?

* * *

 **Dexter Guernsey, 13  
** **District Ten**

There hadn't been any cannons yet, so wherever Izzy was, at least she was still alive. Dexter glanced up at Merric as the pair of them headed back towards the corn field. He'd wanted to go in the direction Izzy had run, but Merric had quickly pointed out that they had no idea which direction she'd gone once she was out of their sight, and they'd been much too distracted at the time to be certain of which way she had run, anyway.

But the corn field – that was probably where she would try to meet up with them if she could. It was the obvious place to go. They had plenty of food, of course, but the corn field was a good place to take shelter, unless it rained again. Maybe they should have grabbed a tent or some blankets or something while they were at the cornucopia.

It was too late for that, of course, so they would just have to make do with what they had – which was quite a bit. They'd gathered up their supplies before leaving the tent, and they still had plenty of food. Plenty of water. They were both well-armed. Now they just needed to hope that Izzy would be able to find them again.

Maybe the sponsors could sent her something to tell her where they were, if she couldn't figure it out. Both he and Merric had already received sponsor gifts, after all – and his had been something that they certainly hadn't _needed_. So their three mentors working together could probably manage to send her _something_.

After all, she was the only one left in her district – the only one her mentor had to focus on. And the only cannon since the faces the night before had belonged to the girl from Two, which meant that Alexia was still alive, and so was Merric's district partner. Dexter chuckled a little.

"What is it?" Merric asked.

Dexter shook his head. "Nothing. I just realized. Your district partner isn't a Career, and she's still alive. You _left_ the Careers, and you're still alive. But both of District Two's tributes are gone."

As soon as he said it, he knew he shouldn't have. They weren't just _gone_. They were _dead._ Izzy had killed one of them. Yes, the girl had been about to kill _him_ , but still. She was dead now. Ten tributes were dead, and the two of them were still alive.

To his relief, Merric chuckled a little. "Not exactly what you'd expect, I guess."

"Not really," Dexter agreed. "But I'm glad it's worked out this way so far."

So far. That was the problem, of course, in the end. No matter how much he trusted Merric and Izzy now, no matter how long they might last together, eventually…

"So far," Merric agreed. And for now, that would have to be good enough. That was what the knives had meant, after all. That was the message that Trenton had been trying to send him. 'So far' would have to be enough to tide him over for a while. There were still fourteen tributes left, and he didn't want to be alone. He'd _tried_ striking out on his own, and his allies had stubbornly followed him. If they'd done it once, chances were good that they would do it again. For now, they could trust each other. For now.

* * *

 **Troy Arrowhead, 15  
** **District Twelve**

For now, Alexia would have to make do with the sling that he'd made for her. He was pretty sure something in her shoulder was broken, but there was nothing they could do about it until they got more supplies … somehow. Even then, it wasn't as if there were medicine that was going to heal broken bones. Even at the cornucopia, all they would likely find was enough supplies to make a _better_ splint. The only thing that could heal a broken bone was time.

And time was something they would probably have little enough of. Assuming the most recent cannon had actually been real, there were already ten tributes dead. Only fourteen of them left. They were almost down to half their original number, and it was only the third day of the Games. Unless something completely unexpected happened to stretch out the Games, the Games weren't going to last long enough for Alexia's arm to heal properly.

At the moment, though, they had a more pressing concern. They'd headed back to the corn field, so they had plenty of food, but they were running a little low on water. What they had would probably still last them a while, but it might be good to give Alexia something else to focus on. "What do you say we go get some water?" he suggested.

Alexia cringed at the thought. "I'm _not_ going back to that pond."

"How about that slide with the logs, then?" Troy suggested. "There was water there, too. Probably plenty of other places for water, if you don't want to go there, either."

Alexia smirked. "You're trying to make me feel useful."

Troy shrugged. "Is it working?"

"No. You could just as easily go do it on your own."

That was true. He could, and it probably wouldn't take him as long. But if he left her here…

"I don't think splitting up is a good idea," he reasoned. "Look what happened last time."

"We didn't _mean_ to split up last time," Alexia pointed out. "We just ran in different directions when that Career girl came after us."

"Still, we were lucky we found each other again when we did," Troy argued. "If we split up again—"

"Fine," Alexia cut him off. "Let's go get some water. But then we should come back here – where it's safe."

Troy shook his head. "It's not safe here, either. Not really. This is where the clown mutts found me. There isn't anywhere we're going to _really_ be safe, so we might as well do something productive."

Alexia couldn't help a smile as the pair of them headed out of the cornfield. "Well, I guess that's one way to look at it – being productive."

Troy shrugged. "What's the other way?"

"Delaying the inevitable. I mean, think about it. If I can't move my arm, if I can't _fight_ , how am I going to survive this thing?"

Troy thought for a moment. "The same way we've survived so far – one day at a time."

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

She wished it were as simple as he made it sound. And maybe surviving _was_ that easy at the start of the Games, when there was plenty going on and the Gamemakers didn't _need_ to drive tributes together in order to force them to fight. Before the girl from One had found them, after all, they hadn't really been in any danger. Well, _Troy_ had during the bloodbath, before she'd pulled him away, but even then they'd managed to escape without too much trouble.

But now there were only fourteen tributes left. There wasn't as good of a chance of them running into each other on their own, so the Gamemakers would probably start trying to drive them together. That was probably what those clown mutts had been doing when they'd driven Troy towards her and the boy from One.

If the Gamemakers had been trying to force them to fight, though, then why had the clowns only attacked the boy from One, giving them time to escape? It didn't make any sense. It wasn't as if the boy had given the Gamemakers any reason to target him, either, and there hadn't been any cannons since then. So if he was still alive and _they_ were still alive, it was probably only a matter of time before the audience – and the Gamemakers – decided that wasn't interesting enough.

She and Troy, of course, weren't really in a position to do anything to spice up the Games. Well, _she_ certainly wasn't, at least. What was she supposed to do with an injured arm?

As much as she tried to think about something else, it always seemed to come back to that. She was injured now. Injured wasn't dead, but there was a pretty strong correlation in the Games. While tributes rarely made it out of the Games unscathed, she couldn't remember there being a Victor who had been injured _this_ badly _this_ early on and survived.

Alexia stopped short as the two of them neared the slide with the logs. There was already someone there. Only one person, though, from the look of it. But it had only taken one person to injure her before. Troy was only one person, and _he'd_ killed a boy. She'd thought, maybe, when she'd run from the cornucopia with him, that she would get the chance to prove herself. Instead…

Instead, they'd ended up teaming up with Freya when they could have fought her, and avoiding pretty much every other tribute who had been in the area. And Wade … she'd had the chance to kill him, and she hadn't taken it. No wonder the Gamemakers had chosen them to send the mutts after. Alexia took a few steps closer, holding her finger up to her lips as she and Troy approached the hill. Maybe this was their chance. Their chance to prove that they were still in the running.

No. _Her_ chance to prove that _she_ could still do this. That she still had a chance to survive. A chance to make it home.

Home. That was what she wanted, after all – just to go home. Back home to a district that, up until the moment she had been reaped, had seemed the most stressful place she could be. Things had only gotten worse since that moment. Much, much worse. If she wanted to prove she still had a chance, she would have to do _something._

Suddenly, the girl sitting beside the water turned. Maybe she and Troy had been making more noise than they'd thought. To her surprise, though, the girl didn't run. After a moment, Alexia realized why. She probably _couldn't_ really run. It was the girl from Eight – the one with the broken leg. As Alexia watched, she stood up slowly, carefully, using her crutches for balance. "I was just leaving anyway."

* * *

 **Isabella Thatcher, 18  
** **District Eight**

That much was true, at least. She'd already drunk her fill of water from the log ride, and she'd been hoping to head for the corn field in the distance to find some food. She would just have to hope the other tributes would let her go. The girl didn't appear to be armed – and even seemed to be injured, in fact – but the boy had a trident and a dagger. He didn't look particularly eager to use them, but that didn't mean anything. It hadn't meant anything when—

 _Oh, shit._ It took her a moment to realize, but once she did, she took a step back towards the water. The boy – he was the one who had killed Owen during the bloodbath. He'd thrown some sort of explosive baseball at him and then … boom. Did he still have any of those?

Probably not. If he did, he would have thrown one by now. That was what she would have done.

Or was it? She certainly hadn't tried to attack _them_ , either. And so far, neither of the other tributes had made a move. Finally, it was the boy who spoke. "You can stay if you want."

Isabella raised an eyebrow. "You mean it?"

But it was already obvious that he did. If he'd wanted to kill her, he would have tried by now, and there wouldn't be much she could do about it. She didn't have a weapon – unless her crutches counted – and he was well-armed. But as he approached the water with his trident, all he seemed interested in doing was trying to spear one of the fish as they swam past.

After a few minutes of fruitless attempts, he turned to the other girl. "Want to give it a go?"

She shook her head. "You're kidding, right?" She nodded to her arm, which was in some sort of makeshift sling.

Isabella winced. "What happened?"

"The boy from One," the other girl answered. "Almost killed me. Would have, if Troy hadn't gotten there in time."

Isabella raised an eyebrow. "You killed him?" Maybe the boy was more dangerous than she'd thought.

Troy shook his head. "No, we just got lucky. There were some clown mutts chasing me, and they started attacking him, so we just ran. He's still alive, unless the cannons have been acting up again."

Isabella chuckled. "If you saw the boy from One, I don't think they're likely to be doing that anymore."

"What do you mean?" the girl asked.

Isabella shrugged. No harm in telling them now. "I saw him yesterday on one of the pirate ships, setting off one of—"

"One of the cannons," the girl finished, putting the pieces together. "Now it makes sense."

Troy, however, shook his head. "How'd you get away?"

Isabella smiled. "He didn't seem all that interested in coming after me. Probably figured I wasn't going to last long, anyway."

The other girl nodded. "Well, you've already lasted longer than ten of the tributes. That's something."

It was. It was certainly _something_. But it wasn't enough. Not yet. Making it farther than people expected wouldn't do her any good if she still ended up dead.

Isabella hobbled closer to the boy as he continued to try to spear a fish. "Mind if I give it a try?"

Troy hesitated for a moment. But only for a moment. Maybe he was trying to figure out if there was another reason she was asking to use his weapon. But it wasn't as if she would really stand a chance against _both_ of them if it came to a fight. So she might as well try to help them catch dinner.

Troy cautiously handed her the trident, and she waited. One moment. Then another. A few of the fish began to swim a little closer. Then a little more. "Any time you want," Troy whispered, growing impatient.

Isabella held back a laugh. Waiting would be worth it, if it worked. One of the fish – a big, fat one – was starting to get pretty close. She just had to wait a little more…

Finally, the fish was close enough. Isabella stabbed down as quickly as she could, spearing straight through the fish. She brought it out of the water, grinning, and Troy took a step back. "That's more blood than I thought," he muttered, his face turning a little green.

Isabella shrugged. "Fish have blood, too. You two get a fire going; I'll see if I can catch a few more." To her surprise, the others did as they were told. Maybe they were hungry. Maybe they were simply too tired or too afraid to care that they seemed to have stumbled right into an alliance. Either way, she certainly wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

"You want to go back to the cornucopia?" Clemence asked incredulously as the two of them sat by the pond eating the last of the corn she'd had in her pockets.

Cosima shrugged. "Why not? We know at least one of the Careers is dead. You said the girls from One and Two weren't at the cornucopia—"

"A day ago," Clemence pointed out. "They weren't at the cornucopia more than a _day_ ago now. They could very easily have gone back there since then."

"But the boy from One wasn't with them?"

"Not then, at least," Clemence conceded. "Maybe they left him to guard the cornucopia."

Cosima shrugged. "Look, if you don't want to come along, that's fine. And if we get closer and see someone there, we can always turn around and come right back."

"As long as they don't see us _first,_ " Clemence reasoned.

Cosima shrugged. "You outran them once."

'I had a good head start."

"And so would we. We won't have to get too close in order to just tell whether or not they're there. If it looks too dangerous, we can always decide not to go any further."

Clemence shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Why do you way that?"

Clemence smiled. "Two reasons, actually. One is the obvious – the Gamemakers. If they see that we're heading towards the cornucopia, then they won't let us just walk away empty-handed. They'll probably send in some mutts or something like these—" She gestured at the clown parts around them. "—to make sure that we get into a fight with whoever happens to be there."

Cosima nodded. That was something she hadn't thought of, but it made sense. But that just made her point even stronger. "But they can hear us talking now," she reasoned. "If we're talking about going back to the cornucopia, will they let us just not go through with it?"

Clemence sighed a little. "I'm not sure," she admitted.

Cosima smiled, knowing she'd already won. "And the second reason?"

Clemence leaned back against one of the larger rocks. "You don't seem like someone who does anything halfway."

Cosima nearly burst out laughing. "What makes you say that?"

Clemence shrugged. "The fact that you're here."

Cosima nodded. "Touche. So are you coming with me?"

Clemence hesitated a moment, but then nodded. "Might as well. Now that the Gamemakers know what we're planning to do, I don't think it would go too well for me if I chickened out."

* * *

 **Clemence Aldrin, 14  
** **District Six**

Not for the first time, Clemence couldn't help wondering if she was losing her mind. Only a day ago, she wouldn't have even known Cosima's name. Now the two of them were heading for the cornucopia together, joking and laughing together like they were old friends. Clemence glanced up at her new ally, still a little confused about what would have made Cosima want to ally with _her_.

Of course, it hadn't been entirely Cosima's idea. Clemence had been the one who had found her the night before and joined her by the lake. But Cosima could have left at any time. It wasn't as if there was a shortage of water in the arena. And there were certainly places with more food. If she'd wanted to go back to the cornucopia, she could have done it _then_ , while it was dark. Instead, they'd traded ghost stories until almost dawn before deciding to get some rest and trade shifts watching during the morning.

Clemence couldn't help a smile. She'd avoided finding allies during training because she hadn't wanted to get attached. She hadn't wanted to lose anyone she'd become close to. But now that she was actually in the arena … well, she was glad for the company, at least for the moment. There were still fourteen tributes left, after all. It was only the third day of the Games. They had time before…

Before it got to that point. The point where one of them would have to die. Where they would have to split up or risk having to fight each other. She hoped it wouldn't come to that point. But the only way it _wouldn't_ was if someone else killed Cosima. Or killed her, of course. But if someone else killed her, she wouldn't have to worry about any of the rest.

Clemence held her breath as the pair of them drew closer to the cornucopia. There didn't _seem_ to be anyone there. But that didn't mean there weren't Careers on the other side. And lying in front of the cornucopia was … Was that a body? Clemence took a few cautious steps closer. It _was_ a body. The girl from Two. So that was another Career down. But why hadn't the hovercrafts come to collect it? Did that mean the other Careers were still nearby?

No. No, if they were that close by, they would have shown themselves by now. They would have attacked. Still, it wouldn't be a good idea to stick around for long. "Let's grab what we can and get out of here," she whispered.

Cosima nodded. "No arguments here." She tossed Clemence a backpack stuffed full of food and grabbed another for herself. Clemence snatched up a few knives and stuffed them in her pockets, then chose a dagger and a thick coil of rope. "Maybe we can use it to set a trap or something."

"Not bad," Cosima agreed, choosing a spear. "Now let's get out of here." The pair of them glanced around nervously as they peered out of the cornucopia, but there weren't any Careers anywhere in sight. They'd gotten lucky this time. But how long could that keep on happening?

* * *

 **Confidence Best, 16  
** **District One**

The sun was setting by the time he finally found Thalia, who had settled down by the duck pond and was filling one of her water bottles. She glared. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Where have _I_ been?" Confidence demanded. "You're the one who ran off."

"I didn't _run off_. I was chasing that little girl."

"Unsuccessfully." There hadn't been any cannons since the night before, which meant the girl from Seven was still alive. Of course…

"Same to you," Thalia pointed out. "And what happened to your arm?"

"Stupid little boy from Ten," Confidence grumbled. "It'll be fine."

"Decima wasn't so lucky."

"What?"

"The girl from Seven ran past the cornucopia, and I saw her body – just lying there in the mouth of the cornucopia. Looked like someone stabbed her in the back."

Confidence shook his head. "Well, that's District Two out."

Thalia raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

"That's what?"

"That's your only reaction?"

Confidence shrugged. "What do you want me to say? She was going to have to die, anyway. That's how the Games work. If she was stupid enough to get herself stabbed in the back, then maybe it's better we don't have to worry about her." Maybe it was a bit harsh, but it was true. And if Thalia couldn't handle that…

He'd been concerned about the way she'd been handling herself, anyway. She'd been the one, after all, who had let the kid from Ten go at the start of the Games. If she hadn't done that, his arm wouldn't be stinging right now. And she'd apparently lost the girl from Seven – but had that been an accident, or had she meant to? And it had been _her_ idea to team up with the little kid from Five, who had run away from the fight the second he'd had the chance.

Not that he'd really expected anything else. The boy had obviously been useless. His only question was why Thalia hadn't killed him in the first place. That was _three_ tributes she'd spared. Three younger, more helpless tributes. Could it be she simply didn't have the stomach to finish off the little ones? But she hadn't seemed to have trouble with the boy from Seven during the bloodbath. Or maybe…

What if that _was_ the trouble? What if it had made her go soft? It wasn't common, but it had been known to happen – otherwise promising Careers losing their nerve in the middle of the Games. If that _was_ what had happened…

Then what? That wasn't his problem, after all. If anything, it would only make things easier for him, in the end. The sponsors would surely prefer him over a Career who kept letting other tributes slip through her fingers.

On the other hand, how many kills did _he_ have? It was already almost the end of the third day, and he'd achieved … nothing. Well, _almost_ nothing. His trick with the cannons may have confused a few people, but not for long. When all was said and done, even if she'd let a few tributes go, Thalia had three kills. He had none. He would have to fix that if he really wanted to earn the audience's favor.

* * *

 **Shasta Evans, 17  
** **District Nine**

After a few hours of rumbling back and forth along the train tracks, Shasta had started to get antsy. So the moment the train had stopped a few hours ago, he'd climbed out and headed for the nearest thing he could find – a hill with what seemed to be a water slide, not far from the Ferris wheel where he'd spent the first night. He'd spent the day gathering firewood, and had finally settled down to light a fire and cook one of the fish he'd managed to catch. But he would have to do it before nightfall if he wanted to avoid one of the other tributes finding him because of the light.

Shasta settled down by the water, his back aching. Maybe gathering firewood hadn't been the brightest idea, but at least it made him feel like he was doing _something_ productive. They were three days into the Games, and it didn't feel like he'd accomplished much of anything. Yes, he was still alive, but he certainly hadn't done anything to make either the sponsors or the Gamemakers notice him.

And maybe that was a good thing – for a while. But ten of the other tributes were already dead. That was almost _half_. It was only a matter of time before the Gamemakers started to target tributes who weren't being interesting enough. Tributes whose only real accomplishment had been not dying.

Tributes like him.

That meant he would have to do something eventually. But for now, he would settle for being able to get a fire going. He took a few of the pieces of wood and tried to copy the motions he'd seen at the fire-starting station. It hadn't looked too hard. But that wood had been dry. He'd tried to find the driest would he could, but even that was still rather moist. Did that mean he was wasting his time?

Maybe. Maybe he would just have to eat his fish raw. Shasta sighed. He was nearly out of other food. The crackers and nuts that had been in the bag he'd grabbed from the cornucopia, the candy apples he'd found on the first day – both were almost gone. Maybe instead of looking for firewood, he should have gathered a bit more _food_.

Tomorrow. He could do that tomorrow. And he could worry about getting a fire going tomorrow. For now, the last of the crackers and candy apples would have to do. Shasta glanced around as he ate, looking for a good place to spend the night. As safe as it had been, he certainly didn't want to spend another night on that train – not when it meant he could only get off when the Gamemakers decided to stop it. The Ferris wheel was little better. He didn't want to risk getting stuck at the top with no way to get down.

Slowly, Shasta stood up, heading for a shape in the distance – a pirate ship that the train had rumbled past several times. If no one was there, it might be as good a place as any to settle down for the night. And if someone _was_ there, maybe he would finally get the chance to prove himself.

* * *

 **No deaths this chapter, so here's where things still stand...**

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.**

 **20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.**

 **19th - Stanley Newton, D3. Stabbed with a katana by Thalia Gold.**

 **18th - Cherry Thatch, D11. Stabbed with a spear by Decima Clear.**

 **17th - Garth Kain, D11. Stomach and throat sliced by Carlisle Talbot.**

 **16th - Emilia Rey Fumero, D12. Stabbed in the back by Wade Larthey.**

 **15th - Decima Clear, D2. Stabbed in the back by Izzy Thatcher.**

* * *

 **District Placements:**

 **12th - District 11 - Best Placement: 17th**

 **11th - District 2 - Best Placement: 15th**


	31. Night Three - Round Robin

**Night Three  
** **Round Robin**

* * *

 _Round Robin: A tournament in which each competitor plays in turn against every other._

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

So much for trying to set a trap. Cosima sighed, passing the end of the rope back to Clemence. After leaving the cornucopia, the two of them had headed south as quickly as they could, but had found the edge of the arena shortly after crossing the railroad tracks. She'd figured this would be as good a place as any to settle down for the night, but then things had gotten even better. They'd discovered a hole in the center of the tracks – a hole large enough for someone to fall through, if they didn't notice it, and a deep pit below.

The problem, of course, was keeping them from noticing it, and there, she and Clemence hadn't been having much success. Every trap they'd tried to weave over the entrance had either fallen apart, fallen in, or been strong enough to hold someone's weight and keep them from tumbling into the hole. Clemence shrugged as the Capitol anthem began to play. "Well, it was a good idea."

"It's _still_ a good idea," came a voice from behind them. Cosima leapt up, startled, as the little boy from Five took a few cautious steps closer. "You just need something exactly the right weight to drape over that hole, and a way to attach it."

Clemence raised an eyebrow. "And I suppose you have just the thing."

"As a matter of fact, yes." The boy produced a blanket from behind his back. It was thick enough and dark enough that it could probably be mistaken for the ground – at least in the dark – but if they could find a way to get it to stay, it would probably give way enough to allow their trap to work.

As the Capitol anthem continued to play, only one face appeared in the sky. That wasn't a surprise – they'd seen the body of the girl from Two when they'd taken the supplies from the cornucopia – but it had slipped her mind that there hadn't actually been any other cannons. There were still fourteen of them left. And now another tribute was offering to help them.

"Where'd you get that?" Clemence asked.

The boy shrugged. "Found it."

"Found it?" Clemence repeated. "Then why is there blood on it?"

The boy's face grew red. "Fine. I didn't find it. I killed someone for it. Do you want it or not?"

To her surprise, Clemence burst out giggling. "Of course. And why would you lie about killing someone for it? That's what you're _supposed_ to do."

"Yeah, but—"

"But _nothing_. You did what the Gamemakers wanted you do, what the audience wanted you to. And now you have something useful. That's _all_ there is to it."

The boy shook his head. "You haven't killed anyone, have you?"

"No," Clemence admitted. "But my district partner – he killed someone. Right in front of me. And I … I was scared. A bit disgusted, at first. But … well, he did what he had to do. And so did you. So would any of us, in the right situation." She reached out and took the blanket, stretching it over the gap in the train tracks and weighing the edges down with a few rocks. "Want to join us?"

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

Was it really going to be that simple? Wade hesitated as the two girls waited for an answer. That was what he'd wanted, after all, when he'd approached them. He'd been hoping to trade the blanket in exchange for an alliance. A little protection. The two of them were well-armed, and he … well, wasn't. He still had the hatchet that the girl from One had given him, but in a real fight against tributes who were actually trying to kill him, he didn't want to be on his own. Not anymore.

But he hadn't expected it to be quite this easy. Were they hiding something? Or maybe they were trying to play to the sponsors by allying with someone who had already killed. If they hadn't, maybe they really did think he could help them. Finally, Wade nodded. "Why not?"

The younger girl grinned. "Then have a seat. We've got plenty of food."

Food. That sealed the deal. He'd eaten most of the nuts and crackers from his pack, as well as the caramel apples he'd found. But if they had food…

"Where'd you get _that_?" he asked when he realized just how _much_ food.

"From the cornucopia," the older girl answered. "There weren't any Careers there."

 _Probably because they were all with me._ Well, not _all_ of them. But the pair from One had been with him, and the boy from Four had been with the tributes they'd found. Both of the tributes from Two were dead, and the girl from Four wasn't really a Career, anyway. No wonder the cornucopia had been unguarded. These two had probably been able to waltz in and simply take what they wanted.

But if _they_ could do it, so could anyone else. And it was only a matter of time before the other tributes realized it. What would the Gamemakers do if practically every tribute in the arena had open access to the cornucopia? Maybe they would send some mutts to guard it, or something to destroy it. It was probably good that these two had been the first to realize it. Chances were, the Gamemakers wouldn't let it simply stay unguarded for long.

Still, Wade couldn't help a smile as the younger girl handed him a muffin. "Thanks," he mumbled through bites. The girl giggled a little. It was a bit strange, but she was probably just nervous. After all, by this point of the Games, he should probably be more worried if she _wasn't_ nervous, if she seemed perfectly calm, as if everything was normal.

Besides, right now, he didn't care. She could be as strange as she wanted as long as the three of them could keep eating their fill. Which they did, not really even worrying about rationing it. After all, if they ran out, there was still plenty of food at the cornucopia, which the Careers didn't even seem interested in guarding.

Maybe that made sense, though. There were only two of them left, really, who could be considered part of the pack – the pair from One. If one of them stayed to guard the cornucopia, that would leave the other one of them to hunt alone, which rather defeated the purpose of having a Career _pack_ in the first place.

Wade couldn't help a smile. Right now, _he_ was in a bigger group than the Career pack. Not that he wanted to take on the Careers with these two, but maybe their numbers, if not their ages, would be enough to deter other tributes from attacking them. Maybe that would be enough for a while.

* * *

 **Clemence Aldrin, 14  
** **District Six**

For now, this little alliance would be good enough. Clemence glanced around at the other two as they finished eating. Once they'd stuffed themselves as full as they could, they packed the rest of the food back into their backpacks. Clemence yawned, stretching her arms a little. She was getting tired, but…

"Why don't you get some sleep," Cosima offered. "I can take the first watch."

Clemence opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it. They would probably end up trading off watches, anyway – just as she and Cosima had the night before. So why would it matter who started? After all, if Cosima had wanted to kill her, she'd had plenty of chances already. And if _Wade_ wanted to kill them, he could have tried to sneak up on them earlier rather than announcing himself.

Clemence lay down, and Wad quickly joined her, huddling close for warmth. Clemence smiled and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him in closer. "Not as good as a blanket, maybe," she admitted. "But warmer than being alone."

Cosima scooted a little closer, as well. "I just hope it doesn't rain."

Clemence yawned. "Rain, rain, go away," she offered sleepily in a sing-song voice.

Wade opened his eyes a little. "What?"

"It's a song," Clemence giggled. " _Rain, rain, go away. Come again some other day. All the children want to play. Rain, rain, go away._ "

Wade closed his eyes. "Whatever."

Clemence smiled and did the same. Maybe their new ally was a little grumpy, but he certainly didn't seem like much of a threat. And she was glad for the company, especially now that the night was getting colder.

As she drifted off to sleep, she thought she heard Cosima singing. " _Rain, rain, go away_ …" The older girl yawned, laying down beside them. " _Come again some other day. All the children want…"_

* * *

 **Carlisle Talbot, 18  
** **District Six**

He just wanted the pain to stop. Carlisle grimaced as he and Freya finished putting the final touches on their shelter. It wasn't much, maybe – just a small patch cut out of the bushes. But the Gamemakers had sent Freya some clothes that blended into their surroundings a lot better than their silly clown outfits, and they'd draped that over the back of their hideout. Maybe it wouldn't fool anyone in daylight, but in the dark, it would probably be enough.

But even moving around enough to help put their little shelter together was painful. He was beginning to think that maybe something _was_ broken, or at least bruised worse than he'd initially thought. But there wasn't much he could do about it. Whatever chance he'd had at getting sponsors had probably been lost when he'd let the girl from Seven get away. And Freya … well, she had just let him. She hadn't gone after the girl, either. But the audience wouldn't have _expected_ her to. She didn't have _any_ kills yet. He did. So the fact that he hadn't been able to do it again would probably be more damaging to his image.

Not that he'd exactly had a spectacular image in the Capitol in the first place. He'd volunteered to take the place of a rebel's son. He hadn't gotten a very good training score. He'd run straight away from the bloodbath, fled once he'd made a kill, and hadn't been able to escape a stupid mutt without getting himself hurt. No wonder the sponsors didn't want to send him anything.

Carlisle sighed. He wondered how Clemence was doing. Not dead, at least. There hadn't been any cannons since the face of the girl from Two had appeared in the sky. So Clemence was still alive. And so was Cosima, who he'd been working with during training. They were alive – and probably glad he was nowhere nearby to ruin their image.

Freya, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind. Maybe it didn't make much sense, but he was still quite grateful for it. It was thanks to her that he was even alive at all. If he'd still been buried under a pile of debris when the girl from Seven had run by, she may very well have killed him. And if not her, then maybe a mutt.

"Carlisle?" Freya's voice shook him from his thoughts. How long had she been talking?

"Yeah?"

Freya chuckled a little. "You weren't listening, were you."

"Not really," Carlisle admitted. "Sorry."

Freya shrugged. "Not a big deal. I was just wondering if you wanted to get some sleep. We'll probably be safe here for the night, at least. We could trade watches if you like. I'll take the first shift."

Carlisle shook his head. "No, I can take it. I don't think I'll be able to sleep for a while, anyway."

Freya didn't seem to want to argue with that. "Maybe tomorrow we can find some more food," she suggested, yawning a little as she settled down inside their shelter.

"Maybe," Carlisle agreed. Maybe that would be enough to take his mind off his legs. Slowly, he leaned back against one of the rocks nearby, trying to find a more comfortable position. But there was nothing comfortable in the arena. Nothing good.

Not even the ally he'd found, because it was only a matter of time before that, too, had to come to an end. Only a matter of time before Freya died. Or before he died. Or both. It was only the third day of the Games, yes, but they were already down to fourteen tributes. That was only a little more than half. Every cannon brought them a little bit closer to the moment they would have to part ways.

But there hadn't _been_ many cannons – not recently. Not since the night before. He hoped that meant the Gamemakers were giving them a little time to recover. But he wasn't going to count on it.

* * *

 **Confidence Best, 16  
** **District One**

He couldn't count on any of them. Confidence shook his head, watching Thalia's chest slowly rise and fall in her sleep. He had thought, when he first met the other members of the pack, that they would make a great team. But Merric had left them. Decima and Deimos had gotten themselves killed. And Thalia … Could he really trust Thalia? The fact that he was the only ally she had left would probably keep her from turning on him for a while, but was it really going to be that long before she decided that he was probably the biggest threat left in the arena?

Suddenly, something caught his eye – something darting back and forth in the distance, just beyond the railroad tracks. For a moment, he considered waking Thalia, but then he thought better of it. If there was nothing there, he didn't want to do anything that might convince her that he was starting to lose it. And if there _was_ someone there, he could handle them alone.

Confidence picked up his mace and his flail and headed for the railroad tracks, careful to glance around for any trains before crossing the tracks. Getting hit head-on by a train didn't sound like a good way to go.

Not that there really _was_ a good way to go. That was what they always said when Careers failed to come home – that at least they had died well, bringing honor to their district. But that idea had never had much appeal to him. Where was the honor in not being good enough to win the Games? All the other twenty-three tributes won was a place in a coffin. He didn't want to be one of those twenty-three.

But if he wanted to make it out of the arena, he was going to have to start _acting_ rather than just thinking. They'd been in the arena for three days now; it was time to make his move. Past time, probably. But if that _was_ a tribute in the distance, scurrying back and forth between a cart and a nearby tent, then he would finally have the chance he wanted.

And if it was something else – a mutt, maybe – that wouldn't be too detrimental, either. After all, he'd taken apart those clown mutts before – quite literally. And the Gamemakers had only used the clown mutts because they'd been trying to drive the tributes together. If he was doing that himself, they probably wouldn't bother.

Confidence took a few steps closer. Then a few more. But now he could see – it wasn't a tribute at all. It wasn't even one of those clown mutts. In fact, it looked like some kind of … bird, maybe? Only much, much larger than any bird he'd ever seen. And it didn't look real.

Well, not that mutts ever looked particularly real. There was usually something to separate them from other, usual non-mutt animals. But there was something strange even by mutt standards about the creatures in front of him. They didn't seem to be … alive. But not in the same way as the clown mutts. Confidence took a step closer. What _were_ they?

Suddenly, one of them made a sound. A sound that was almost a shriek, but certainly not human. Not a tribute. Confidence strode closer, clutching his mace. If there weren't going to be any tributes, he might as well take out these mutts.

Confidence swung. The mutt leapt back, startled. The second blow struck it in the back, and it went flapping to the ground. But its wings … they almost didn't look like feathers. In fact, it looked like someone had just painted feathers on them, or stuck all the feathers into them. These weren't real animals. In fact…

In fact, it looked like they were _stuffed_ animals. And not real animals that had been killed and stuffed – stuffed animals like a child might play with. Confidence grinned. This was going to be too easy.

* * *

 **Freya Clearwater, 17  
** **District Four**

She woke to the sound of shrieking in the distance – shrieking that didn't even sound human. Maybe it wasn't human. There were plenty of mutts in the arena, after all. She hoped that was all it was. There hadn't been a cannon, but…

But clearly whatever was making that noise was still alive. Freya sat up and huddled a little closer to Carlisle. "What do you think that is?"

Carlisle shrugged. "Whatever it is, it's pretty far away. I don't think we need to worry about it."

Freya held her tongue. She hadn't been worried about anyone finding them. In fact, she'd been thinking about finding the sound, about trying to stop whatever was happening. But she didn't say anything of the sort. Carlisle would just shoot the idea down. If the noise _was_ coming from a tribute, after all, they were probably as good as dead, anyway. And if it wasn't a tribute, it wasn't their problem.

Of course, it wasn't really their problem either way. Carlisle was right about not worrying. Whatever it was, it would probably be over soon. By the time they got there, it would probably be over.

But that didn't make it any easier to listen to.

Finally, Carlisle crawled into the shelter with her. "Look, we might as well both get some sleep. If there _is_ something happening—"

Freya raised an eyebrow. " _If_?"

"If there's something going on with a tribute rather than a mutt," Carlisle clarified. "If there is, they might decide to have a look around. We'll have a better chance of avoiding them if we're both hiding inside here."

Freya couldn't help a smile. "Is that the reason you came inside, or…?"

"Or what?"

Freya shook her head. "Look, if you're afraid, there's no shame in admitting that. We're _all_ scared. All of us. Even the other Careers."

Carlisle shook his head. "You mean that?"

"Merric was nervous during training," Freya lied. Meric had certainly never _seemed_ nervous, but the Games were so much pressure even for the kids who have been practicing and training for this for years. I'm certainly nervous."

"You're not a Career."

"No, but how many of the Careers are left? The pair from Two are dead. That's two Careers down, three of them left – not a much worse ratio than the rest of us in general." She shrugged. "Maybe they should have been a bit _more_ nervous."

Carlisle smiled a little. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." She lay down, stretching a little. "Now let's get some sleep."

* * *

 **Shasta Evans, 17  
** **District Nine**

Shasta glanced around as he neared the hill with the logs. He was still heading for the pirate ship, but it wouldn't hurt to stop long enough to refill his water bottles. He'd heard some sort of shriek a little while ago, but it seemed to be coming from pretty far away, in the direction he was heading away _from_. That would have to be good enough. His back hurt too much right now to start running unless he had a damn good reason.

And he didn't seem to have one yet. Slowly, he leaned down beside one of the taller parts of the slide and collected as much water as he could. He drank his fill, then refilled the water bottles. That could easily last him the rest of the night, and he could always come get some more in the morning. Besides, there might be even more water near the pirate ship. When he'd ridden by on the train, it had seemed to be hanging from some sort of pole rather than floating on water, but maybe there was still some water in the area.

If not, he could always come back here. No one else seemed particularly interested in this area of the arena. Or maybe he'd simply been lucky enough to venture there at a different time than everyone else. Shasta headed towards the pirate ship again, adjusting his backpack, trying to find a more comfortable position for it.

There wasn't one, but it wouldn't be long now. Not long before he would be able to put it down and settle down for the night. If there didn't seem to be anyone around, maybe he could even take another one of his pills. He still had seven left, after all, and he'd earned it…

Maybe. He would have to see who was on the ship first. It was bigger up close, but no one seemed to be on deck, at least. Shasta climbed aboard, glancing around nervously, clutching his knife. If there _was_ someone here, they were probably hiding. They would probably be just as afraid of him as he was of them.

But that wasn't much comfort. Frightened people did stupid things sometimes. He didn't want to risk startling them at some point in the night. If he was going to find them, and if there was going to be a fight, he would rather it happened _now_ , while he was still awake.

After a little searching, he finally found the door that led belowdecks. Slowly, he opened it, allowing the moonlight to shine in. For a moment, he waited to see if anyone would run out, or if anyone would try to attack him. Nothing. If there was someone down there, they were hiding well.

Shasta took a deep breath and climbed down the ladder that led below. The moonlight shone through the door, as well as a grate in the deck, illuminating most of the room. There didn't seem to be anyone around, but there were still a few places they could be hiding. Shasta checked behind a pile of crates, then behind a barrel full of … something. Water, maybe, or some other kind of liquid. Not his problem right now. He had plenty of water. He opened a few to see if maybe a tribute was hiding in one of them, but there was no one. He seemed to have the ship all to himself.

Shasta breathed a sigh of relief, but there was also a part of him that was almost disappointed. If there _had_ been someone hiding here, they would probably have been frightened. They might not have put up much of a fight. It could have been an easy kill.

His stomach turned at the thought – the idea that he was disappointed about _not_ having to kill someone. Shasta swung his backpack off, then dumped out a few of the sacks of potatoes that were leaning against the side of the ship and arranged the sacks in a pile. Maybe it wasn't much of a pillow, but it would have to be good enough.

After debating for a moment, he reached into his backpack and pulled out his bottle of pills. Chances were, no one was coming. There hadn't been any cannons since the faces in the sky, despite the screams he'd heard, but those screams had seemed far away. Anyone else who was looking for a place to rest had probably already found one. He took one of the pills and washed it down with a little of the water. He would just have to hope no one came hunting in this direction.

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

She'd passed the cornucopia a little while ago, with no sign of trouble. Nothing except the screams in the distance. But the screams didn't even sound human. Some sort of mutt, maybe? But why would a mutt be screaming? Maybe it was just meant to scare them.

If so, it was working.

Izzy pulled her makeshift bandage tighter around her shoulder. She'd been carrying some of the medical supplies when Merric had shouted to them to run, so she'd been able to stop the bleeding. But her shoulder still hurt like hell where the boy had stabbed her. But at least he hadn't finished her off.

Why he hadn't, she still wasn't entirely sure. He'd certainly had enough time to, if he hadn't hesitated. She was grateful he had, of course, even if it didn't make much sense. Izzy winced a little as her backpack rubbed up against the wound. Once she found the others again, one of them could probably do a better job. Trying to bandage your own shoulder was _hard_.

Finally, she saw a hill in the distance. There seemed to be some sort of water, which was good, because that was something she _hadn't_ been carrying when she'd run, and she'd had no desire to stop at the cornucopia long enough to pick some up. She wasn't anywhere near dying of thirst yet, but as long as she was in the area, she might as well get some water.

As she drew a little closer, however, she began to question that decision. Near the water were three tributes, roasting what looked like … fish. They were roasting fish over a fire. Izzy almost burst out laughing. Weren't they worried that someone would see the fire? Of course, if there were _three_ of them, maybe they didn't have to worry about that. Even the Career pack was down to two now. Who else would be stupid enough to attack three tributes at once?

Certainly not her. Izzy turned to go, hoping that they hadn't noticed her yet, or that they wouldn't bother coming after her if they had. They seemed to have everything they wanted, even if they noticed that she was carrying some supplies.

Just as she was sneaking off, however, one of them called out, "Want some fish?"

Izzy whirled around sharply. "Me?"

The boy who had offered glanced around, holding out a fish. "Unless there's someone else around – then they're welcome, too."

Izzy took a step closer. Was this some sort of trick. "You mean it?"

The boy shrugged. "Look, if you don't want it…"

Izzy smiled a little, taking the fish. "Thanks."

"You're Izzy, right?" one of the girls asked. "Well, Isabella, but—"

"And you're the other one," Izzy nodded.

The older girl smirked. "The original, you might say. This is Alexia and Troy."

Izzy turned to Alexia. "District Ten, right?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Have you seen Dexter? We got separated."

Alexia shook her head. "Not since the bloodbath. How is he?"

"Fine last time I saw him," Izzy answered. "We were attacked by the pair from One, but I got away – and since their faces weren't in the sky, I guess they did, too."

Alexia glanced over at Troy. "The pair from One sure get around. The boy did this." She nodded to her shoulder, which was bandaged, and her arm was in a makeshift sling.

Izzy swung the backpack off her shoulders. "I've probably got some stuff in here that could help."

"Unless you've got something that will fix broken bones…"

Izzy shook her head. "No, but I can make you a better sling, and there might be something in here to help with the pain."

Alexia raised an eyebrow. "What's the catch?"

Izzy shrugged. "Can you spare another fish?"

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

The shrieks woke her with a start, and it was only then that Thalia realized that Confidence was gone. Useless. The boy was completely useless. For all she knew, it was _him_ causing all that ruckus. Well, if it was, she certainly wasn't about to go and save him. That was twice now that he'd left her. He was on his own.

Thalia rubbed her eyes, gathered her weapons and supplies, and stormed off in the other direction, away from the screams. Maybe she was better off on her own than with a team, anyway. She and Decima had made a good pair, but Decima was gone now. Confidence had done exactly nothing to contribute to the pack, and Merric was actively working against them.

Some pack.

Thalia shook her head as she headed south towards one of the hills looming in the distance. If they split up now, that would save her the trouble of having to find a good time to split later. It was only a matter of time before every Career pack split up. If it was happening sooner than usual this year, maybe that wasn't a problem. Maybe it was just a sign that the Games were moving faster.

But the _rest_ of the Games didn't seem to be moving any faster than normal. There had been a meager bloodbath, and only a few cannons each day since then. And none so far tonight. Thalia shook her head as she got closer and closer to the hill. It had been almost two days since she'd killed _anyone_. It was time to fix that streak before the Gamemakers decided the Games were getting too boring.

Suddenly, she heard something in the distance. It sounded almost like … singing. Who would be singing? Didn't they realize how dangerous that was? How likely they were to attract…

Who? Thalia clenched her fists. Maybe with two of the Careers dead, one who had deserted, and another who had never been a Career in the first place, the other tributes figured the arena wasn't as dangerous as it usually was. Maybe they were starting to get complacent. Thalia shook her head. If so, that was a mistake. A _big_ mistake. And if she had anything to say about it, it was going to be their _last_ mistake.

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

" _Can you throw 'em over your shoulder like a continental soldier? Do your ears hang low?"_ Troy finished with a grin.

Isabella shook her head, confused. "Why would anyone have ears that long?"

"And what's a continental soldier?" Alexia asked.

Izzy rolled her eyes. "It's just a _song_ , silly. Don't they have songs in your districts?"

Alexia shook her head. "Not silly ones like that."

Izzy smirked. "Old Macdonald?"

"That's not silly. And _everybody_ knows that one."

Izzy snorted. "Everyone in Ten, maybe. Of course everybody in Ten knows a song about farm animals. I hadn't heard it until Dexter sang it."

Alexia chuckled. "And I suppose the songs you sing in Seven make _much_ more sense."

"Of _course_ they do," Izzy protested. "Listen. _Little Bunny Foo Foo, hopping through the forest, picking up the field mice and bopping 'em on the head._ "

Troy shook his head. "What are field mice doing in a forest."

Izzy glared. "Don't interrupt. _Down came the good fairy, and she said … Little Bunny Foo Foo, I don't want to see you picking up the field mice and bopping 'em on the head. I'll give you three chances to be good, and if you don't behave, I'm going to turn you into a goon!"_

Isabella raised an eyebrow. "What's a goon?"

Izzy hesitated. "I … Huh. I'm not really sure."

"Then how do you know it's something bad?" Alexia asked, confused. "Maybe he _wants_ to be turned into a goon."

Izzy rolled her eyes. "Why would he?"

"Maybe he doesn't want to be a bunny anymore," Troy offered. "Because bunnies get eaten by bigger animals. Maybe he figures a goon would be able to scare off predators better than a bunny would."

Izzy giggled a little. "All right. All right. You win. We have silly songs, too."

Troy smiled, giving her a pat on the back. "There. Was that so hard to admit? I guess we've all got some pretty silly songs. So what happens to Little Bunny Foo Foo?"

Izzy smiled. "Well, the next day … _Little Bunny Foo Foo, hopping through the forest…"_ She trailed off after a moment. "Wait. Do you hear that?"

Sure enough, there was another voice, coming from the other side of the hill. " _Picking up the field mice and bopping 'em on the head._ " The girl from one laughed a little as she emerged from behind the hill. "Cute song. What was the next part?" She tapped her sword against one of the rocks. "Oh, yes. _Down came the good fairy, and she said …_ Run."

Izzy looked ready to run, and Troy was already reaching for his bag, but Alexia stood up. "I don't think so."

"Excuse me?"

"There are four of us. One of you. You really think that's a fight you're going to win?"

She was bluffing, of course. Yes, there were four of them. But she had an injured arm. Isabella had a broken leg. Izzy's arm had been bandaged, as well. Of the four of them, only Troy was in relatively good physical condition, and he looked terrified at the thought of fighting a Career.

But the girl hesitated a moment. Maybe she was doing the math, realizing that even if she _did_ end up winning the fight, the chances were pretty good that she'd get hurt in the process. Maybe even badly. Was this really a fight she wanted? Alexia held her breath, hoping she would decide it wasn't.

* * *

 **Troy Arrowhead, 15  
** **District Twelve**

Alexia was probably hoping to scare the girl off, but Troy already knew it was pointless. Even if _she_ decided to leave, the Gamemakers would never just let them avoid a fight now. Not now that she had found them. If she was going to leave, the time for that would have been _before_ she had revealed herself. She could have pretended to ignore them, pretended to be looking for something in another direction.

But not anymore. She had already found them. One way or another, there was going to be a fight. It was only a matter of who was going to survive it.

Suddenly, to his surprise, the girl from One lowered her weapon. "Maybe if you give me some information about—"

Before she could finish the sentence, however, she was cut off by a loud shriek from overhead. Some sort of bird, from the sound of it – but not like any bird he'd ever heard before. There was a ruffling of feathers as it dove down towards them, and as it got closer, he could see it was larger than he'd thought. But there was something odd about it that he couldn't quite place.

He didn't have time to worry about it. "Run!" Alexia shouted, and the two of them did. He didn't look back to see what the others had decided to do. He just hoped they were running, as well. But Isabella … She _couldn't_ run. What was she supposed to do?

Troy clenched his fists as he ran. There was nothing he could do about that now. Nothing he could do to help her. Even if he tried to run back and help her fight off the birds, chances were he would be too late. They would probably hear a cannon or two any moment now.

But one moment passed. And then another. He and Alexia kept running towards the corn field, but they were already beginning to slow down a bit. The birds weren't following them. But they apparently hadn't done much damage to the others, either, if they were all still alive.

"In there!" Alexia called, ducking into the corn field. Just as they did, however, Troy collided with something. No, some _one_. Someone on the edge of the corn field. He turned immediately and ran in the other direction, with Alexia at his side as the figure behind them followed.

No, _two_ figures, Troy realized. "Wait!" called a voice, but he wasn't about to be fooled by _that_. Whoever was behind them, they would have to do better than that if they wanted to catch him. Troy sprinted towards the train in the distance. If he could make it past the railroad tracks…

Then he spotted one of the open cars, and he had a better idea. "Alexia!" he gasped as they ran. "Onto the train!" He leapt inside the moment he got close enough, and Alexia followed. He slammed the door behind him as the train started to rumble down the tracks just in time. Maybe the Gamemakers were feeling generous…

"I think…" Alexia wheezed, gasping for breath. "I think that was Dexter."

"What?"

"The voice. I think that was him."

Troy shook his head. "Does that mean you want to go back?"

"No," Alexia answered immediately. "I don't know for sure, and even if it was…"

"There's no telling whether he'd want to kill us," Troy finished.

Alexia nodded. "I don't think he would, but…"

But there was no way of knowing. No way of knowing _anything_ in the Games. He had been sure the girl from One would attack them, after all, and she hadn't. He had been certain the Gamemakers had sent the bird mutts to kill some of them, but there hadn't been any cannons. They were all still alive. Maybe there wasn't really a way to tell what was going to happen next.

* * *

 **Merric Belgrave, 18  
** **District Four**

"I think that was Alexia," Dexter gasped as the train rumbled off. "And the boy from Twelve."

Merric nodded a little. "Is that why you chased after them?"

"I thought maybe they might have seen Izzy."

Merric laid a hand on Dexter's shoulder. "She's still alive. Still out there somewhere. We'll find her."

Dexter shook his head. "I guess this is how the two of you must have felt when I disappeared, huh?"

Merric chuckled a little. "Something like that, yeah. But at least we figured out where you went."

Dexter nodded. "I just wish we knew where Izzy might have gone."

"That's why we're staying near the corn field," Merric reminded him. "It's where she'll probably come looking for us."

"What if she _can't_ come looking for us?" Dexter asked. "What if she's hurt somewhere? What if she needs our help? What if—"

"Then the sponsors would have sent us something to help us find her," Merric suggested.

"Really?"

"That's how we found _you_. They sent a pair of night vision glasses, and we saw you headed for the cornucopia. If we haven't gotten any clues, that probably means she's headed back this way on her own."

"No news is good news, huh?"

Merric nodded. "Exactly. Now let's get back to that fire we were trying to start." The pair of them headed back to the corn field. They'd been in the middle of trying to start a fire using a pile they'd made of corn husks and stems.

By the time they got back, however, it had started to rain. Not a downpour like the first night, but a slow drizzle – almost a fog. Merric shook his head. "Great. How are we supposed to light a fire in this weather?"

"Maybe that's a good thing," Dexter offered as Merric took a box of matches from the supplies they'd grabbed and started trying to light the pile, anyway. "If the two of them were running from someone, there might be other tributes in the area. A fire might attract them."

"Might attract Izzy, too, if she happens to be nearby," Merric pointed out.

Dexter raised an eyebrow. "You think they would have run from Izzy?"

Merric shrugged. Stranger things had happened. "Probably not if they knew it was her," he admitted. "But if they just heard _someone_ coming – if she was making enough noise for them to think she was someone else – then maybe. Or if she had someone with her."

"Like who?"

"I don't know." He threw down his box of matches, annoyed. "But this obviously isn't going to work."

"Maybe once it stops drizzling," Dexter offered hopefully as the pair of them settled down.

Merric nodded. "Maybe."

* * *

 **Dexter Guernsey, 13  
** **District Ten**

They would probably have to do without a fire for the night, since the rain didn't seem like it would be letting up anytime soon. It was getting a little bit harder, a little bit colder. Dexter snuggled a little closer to Merric as the pair of them lay down to rest. "You get some sleep," Merric offered. "I can keep my eyes open for a while yet."

"Thanks," Dexter mumbled, already half-asleep. Part of him felt bad about sleeping while he should be keeping an eye out for Izzy. Part of him even wanted to head out into the dark and the rain and try to find her. But he wouldn't even know where to begin looking for her now. He and Merric had some idea, at least, of which way she had run from the tent, but that had been almost a whole day ago. She could be _anywhere_ by now.

She was probably thinking the same thing about them, of course. She had no way of knowing where they had gone. Merric had seemed pretty confident she would come back to the corn field, but there hadn't been any sign of her all day. Maybe…

Maybe she wasn't coming back. That was something he hadn't really wanted to think about. Maybe it wasn't that she _couldn't_ find them. Maybe it was that she didn't _want_ to. Maybe she felt bad for leaving them. Maybe she would have stayed away, anyway. There were only fourteen of them left, after all. How long would it be before they had to split up, one way or the other?

Dexter shook the thought from his head. There hadn't been many more tributes left when they'd come looking for _him_. The only one who had died since then, after all, was the girl from Two. If she'd wanted to leave the group, she could have done it then.

No, she was coming back. She had to be. It was only a matter of time.

* * *

 **Isabella Thatcher, 18  
** **District Eight**

It was only a matter of time before she would run out of owls to kill. Izzy swung her crutch again from her position on the ground, batting away another owl. They were still swarming around her, but had gotten more hesitant since the first dozen or so had gotten a good whack on the head when they'd tried to get any closer.

Running hadn't been an option, of course, so she'd settled for the next best thing. While the others had run, she'd started swatting at the owls with her crutches. She'd been hoping that would be enough to convince the birds to go after the others rather than her. That hadn't really worked, but at least she was still alive.

Right. She was alive until the birds decided that attacking was worth risking getting hit on the head. Izzy waved her crutch as another one flapped closer. "Stay there!" she growled.

The bird cocked its head as if studying her. Then, to her surprise, it started waddling off in the other direction, away from her. Isabella shook her head. It couldn't be that easy. It _couldn't_. All she had to do was tell them to leave?

Just then, the owl stopped. Turned. It was watching her, as if waiting for … what? Was it waiting for her to follow it? Isabella shook her head. "You've got to be kidding, right?"

As if in answer, a quiet pinging noise filled the air. Isabella almost burst out laughing. _Another_ sponsor? It wasn't as if she really needed anything. Well, except maybe some idea of what to do with these birds…

The package landed at her feet, and Isabella bent down to pick it up. Inside was some fresh fruit, along with two sandwiches. One was chicken, the other turkey. Isabella nodded a little. Both birds. Was that some kind of signal? A hint that she should follow the owls that seemed to want to lead her in a certain direction?

Isabella glanced around again, waiting. But nothing else was coming. If this was the only clue she was going to get, then it was probably best to follow it. Isabella stuffed the food into her pockets, gripping her crutches. "All right, then, birds," she agreed. "Let's go."

* * *

 **No deaths this chapter, either. (I promise things will pick up again soon.)**

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.**

 **20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.**

 **19th - Stanley Newton, D3. Stabbed with a katana by Thalia Gold.**

 **18th - Cherry Thatch, D11. Stabbed with a spear by Decima Clear.**

 **17th - Garth Kain, D11. Stomach and throat sliced by Carlisle Talbot.**

 **16th - Emilia Rey Fumero, D12. Stabbed in the back by Wade Larthey.**

 **15th - Decima Clear, D2. Stabbed in the back by Izzy Thatcher.**

* * *

 **District Placements:**

 **12th - District 11 - Best Placement: 17th**

 **11th - District 2 - Best Placement: 15th**


	32. Day Four - Ace in the Hole

**Day Four  
** **Ace in the Hole**

* * *

 _Ace in the Hole: A plan or piece of information kept secret until it becomes necessary to use it._

* * *

 **Isabella Thatcher, 18  
** **District Eight**

The rain seemed to be getting stronger by the moment. Isabella blinked the water out of her eyes as she swung her crutches in front of her, trying to keep up with the owls she was following. She _hoped_ they were leading her somewhere where there was shelter. But she could barely see a thing through the downpour.

Suddenly, she heard a noise. A rumbling through the rain. A train, coming down the tracks – the tracks that stretched out in front of her. Isabella came to a halt well away from the tracks. The train rumbled harmlessly by. Okay. So she had at least some idea of where she was now. But she couldn't see anything that might provide some shelter from the storm.

Isabella peered into the darkness beyond the train tracks. She _did_ see something. Not any sort of shelter, but a tribute. No, _two_ tributes. Maybe even three. It was hard to tell, but there were definitely at least two lumps on the ground. However many of them there were, they were huddled closely together, as if hoping for some warmth amid the pouring rain. Were they asleep? Surely the train would have woken them. If it hadn't…

If it hadn't, it probably wouldn't wake them if _she_ approached. Isabella took a step closer. Then another. She didn't have much as far as weapons went, but maybe she could use her crutches. They had worked well enough against the owls. Or maybe one of them had a weapon that she could use. All she had to do was _not_ wake them.

And even if she _did_ wake them, no one had seemed particularly eager to come after her. Maybe they were just reluctant to attack someone who was at such an obvious disadvantage. Maybe it was wrong, taking advantage of their pity. But it had kept her alive so far. Maybe it would continue to work to her advantage.

Isabella glanced around. The birds had flown off, leaving her to make a decision. But there _was_ no decision to make. The sponsors had been generous so far – whether as a result of her high training score or because they, too, felt sorry for her, she wasn't entirely sure. But they wouldn't keep supporting her unless she decided to do _something_. So far, all she'd managed to do was avoid fights. If she could win one – or even kill a tribute or two _without_ a fight – then that might prove that she _deserved_ the packages they'd been sending. That maybe she _deserved_ to live.

Isabella took a deep breath. The thought – the idea that killing other tributes, other _kids_ – somehow made her more deserving of victory made her sick. But that was what the Games were, in the end. They were sickening, but if she wanted to survive, she would have to kill. And she certainly wasn't going to get a better chance than this. Her opponents were all asleep. In her condition, she would never stand a chance in a fair fight, but now…

She _had_ to act. She _had_ to do something. If not, the Gamemakers might very well send the birds back to finish her off. Yes. Yes, that was it. That was a good enough reason to do it. Isabella took one step closer. Then another. Slowly, she made her way towards the train tracks.

Just as she stepped onto the tracks, however, something gave way. Suddenly, she was falling. Down. Down into some sort of pit. Isabella couldn't help a scream as she tumbled deeper into the hole in the middle of the train tracks. They had put some sort of fabric over it – maybe a blanket of sorts – but that had quickly given way under her weight.

It felt like she had been falling forever when she hit the bottom with a splash, but it couldn't have been _that_ far. She could still see the top. Barely. But would she be able to get _out_? Isabella winced as she tried to stand. Her leg had hurt enough _before_ the fall. Now that she'd landed on it, it certainly wasn't going to do her any good if she tried to climb out.

But what other choice did she have? Isabella stood up, gripping one of her crutches. She'd dropped the other when she'd fallen. As it was, the water was almost up to her waist. She would have to get out of the pit before…

Before she drowned. And before anyone else noticed that she was down here. Isabella froze as something blocked the little light that was coming from above the pit. She looked up to see a girl – a girl staring down at her with a horrified expression. "Cosima!" the girl called. "Get over here!"

Isabella froze, ducking as low as she could in the water, hoping that maybe – just maybe – anyone else who came would be fooled into thinking that the girl was imagining it, that no one was really down there. What other choice did she have? She didn't have time to climb out of the pit before the other tributes decided to do something. She was out of options. Out of choices. All she could do was hope.

"Well, shit," came a voice, and a second figure appeared at the mouth of the pit. Then a third. "What do we do now?"

The shortest figure shrugged. "Go down there and kill her, I guess."

The older girl snorted. "You first."

The younger girl whispered something to the older one, who lifted her weapon. A spear. Isabella started thrashing, desperately trying to climb out of the pit as she realized what they were thinking. But it was too late. The spear came flying towards her, spearing straight through her abdomen, pinning her to the wall of the pit as the water continued to rise. Isabella screamed in pain as she gripped the spear, trying to pull it out, to free herself. But the mud held it fast.

It didn't matter. If she pulled it out, she would bleed to death in minutes. If she left it, she would drown once the water rose above her head. Even if she managed to free herself, there was no way she could climb out now. There was nothing she could do.

* * *

 **Clemence Aldrin, 14  
** **District Six**

There was nothing to do but wait. Clemence watched silently as the water rose. Cosima and Wade looked away, but she didn't. She couldn't. _Someone_ had to watch. The girl deserved that much, at least.

It wasn't fair. None of it was. The girl was trapped, pinned by the spear Cosima had thrown. But she was still alive. Still aware. Still staring up with wide, terrified eyes as the muddy water rose to her shoulders, to her neck, to her chin. There was a bit of thrashing, panicked splashing, as the water reached her head. Covered her head. Then the thrashing stopped.

 _Boom!_ The sound of the cannon shook the arena, and Clemence finally turned away. "I…" she started, but there was no good way to end that sentence. Just a few nights ago, she and Cosima had been laughing at the idea of tributes' ghosts pulling other tributes down into the water to drown. It had all been a good joke, a story to pass the time. Now…

Tears stung her eyes as she doubled over, her stomach churning, retching out what was left of her supper. Cosima and Wade were silent, but she could practically _feel_ them watching her. Trying to decide what to do. Maybe wondering whether it was worth keeping her around if she couldn't handle what had to happen.

Clemence stood up slowly, her legs still shaky. Yes, it had to happen. But did it have to happen like _that_? It didn't seem fair. Didn't seem right.

But that had been the point of setting a trap in the first place. Maybe it _wasn't_ playing fair, but it was probably the reason they were still alive. She'd been fast asleep when the girl's scream had woken her – and, from the look of it, Cosima and Wade had been, too. If they hadn't set a trap, the girl might have killed _them_ instead of the other way around. There might be three of them dead instead of just one.

But that … that didn't really help. Because _eventually_ , the others would have to die, too. Only one person would make it out of the arena. And now she was certain – more certain than ever – that it wasn't going to be her. That she couldn't do this.

She couldn't.

Without another word, she took off running. Leaving Cosima and Wade. Leaving the backpacks full of supplies. Leaving everything but the few knives and a small coil of rope she had tucked in her pocket. Leaving the dead girl and the pit of muddy water and _everything_. She didn't want any of it. She didn't want to be _part_ of any of it.

But she already knew. A part of her had always known. She wouldn't be able to run fast enough to escape it.

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

For a moment, he considered running after her. She was just scared, after all – just like he had been after the first time _he'd_ killed. And, sure, she hadn't actually _killed_ the girl, but she _had_ been watching right up until the end. That was certainly more than _he'd_ done.

But he'd known better this time. He'd known that he didn't want to actually _see_ the other tribute die. He'd made that mistake the first time – the mistake of looking when he'd pulled the blanket off of the tribute from Twelve. This time, he knew better.

Did that mean he was getting used to it? The thought frightened him, but, at the same time, that was what _had_ to happen, wasn't it? The girl had to die. Everyone else had to die. That was the only way he was going to make it home.

But had she really had to die like _that_?

A soft pinging noise shook him from his thoughts. Wade looked up, surprised, as a small parachute floated down. What could the sponsors be sending? It wasn't as if they needed anything. The weapons and supplies that Clemence and Cosima had gathered from the cornucopia would last them quite a while – especially now that Clemence had run off. Maybe they were sending Cosima another spear to replace the one she'd lost. The one she'd _thrown_. The one she'd used to kill the other girl.

But the package didn't look big enough to be a spear. No, it was a bottle of some sort, along with some … bandages? Wade glanced at Cosima, confused. She simply shrugged. "Number five on the side – that means it's for you."

Wade shook his head. "It's for both of us." He opened the bottle and smelled it. Some sort of alcohol. Probably supposed to be used to clean out wounds, considering the fact that they'd sent bandages, too. But since neither of them was injured…

Wade took a sip, then passed the bottle to Cosima, who was staring. "What?" Wade demanded. "We've earned it."

Cosima chuckled a little. "My parents never let me drink."

Wade shrugged a little. "You see your parents around anywhere?"

Cosima took a quick drink, but immediately started coughing. "What's _in_ here?"

"Who knows?" Wade took the bottle back and took another sip. Then another. It didn't exactly taste good, but it _felt_ good. His parents would never have let him do this, either. Not that he'd ever really wanted to. But now … he'd earned it. _They'd_ earned it. And maybe it couldn't be 'they' for long, but, for now, it was good enough.

Wade passed the bottle back to Cosima, who eagerly took another sip. Then another. Wade snatched the bottle back and took another swig. Things were starting to get a little fuzzy. Good. Fuzzy was good. Certainly better than thinking about what had happened. About what they'd _done_. For now, for a little while, maybe it was better to forget.

* * *

 **Confidence Best, 16  
** **District One**

 _Boom._ Finally, a cannon. Confidence couldn't help a smile despite the pouring rain. At least _someone_ was making some progress. Sure, it wasn't him, but they were down to thirteen tributes. He was one tribute closer to going home.

Home. While that had certainly been his goal all along – to make it home from the Games – he'd never imagined being quite this eager to get there. Maybe it was the cold and the wind and the pouring rain. Maybe it was the fact that the Games weren't quite what he'd imagined. He'd always pictured more … satisfaction. But it was the fourth day of the Games already, and he didn't have a single kill. This wasn't at all what he'd had in mind.

Confidence shook his head. He would get his chance. There were only thirteen of them left now. It was only a matter of time before the Gamemakers drove him towards _someone_.

Wasn't it?

That was what he had been assuming, but, if anything, the Gamemakers seemed more interested in helping other tributes get _away_ from him. The clowns had arrived just as he'd been about to kill the girl from Ten. And the other group of tributes … well, that hadn't really been the Gamemakers' fault, but Thalia had run off after the girl from Seven rather than helping him finish off Merric and the boy from Ten. If she had stayed…

But she hadn't. Still, he should have been able to handle them himself. Either one of them alone wouldn't have stood a chance. What had gotten into Merric, running off to join a couple of younger tributes? What had he been thinking?

Yes, it was _Merric's_ fault, Confidence decided as he plodded onward in the rain. It certainly wasn't _his_ fault. He'd been doing the best he could. Well, aside from letting the girl from Eight go so he could continue to play with the cannons, but that had been two days ago. How could he have known then that she would be the only opportunity for an easy kill that he would get for a while?

Suddenly, something caught Confidence's eye. A tent in the distance. Maybe it wasn't much, but it was shelter. If he'd _just_ wanted shelter, of course, he could have headed back to the cornucopia a while ago. But what good would that do? He couldn't stay there – not if he wanted to be able to find anyone. No one was going to just happen to be at the cornucopia. But maybe…

There was no one in the tent, either, he quickly realized. Just a silly dart game and a bunch of stuffed animals for prizes, including several large, stuffed owls. Huh. So that was where they had come from. These ones, however, showed no signs of coming to life and attacking anyone. Confidence tossed a few of them to the ground, making a little more room in the tent.

Then he saw it – on the floor where the owls used to be. Some sort of trap door, leading … where? He glanced around quickly, making sure there weren't any tributes hiding, waiting to take advantage of the distraction. Then he knelt down and lifted the trap door.

It led to a tunnel – almost a cave of sorts – below the tent. Slowly, Confidence lowered himself down. It wasn't particularly deep, but it kept sloping down in the distance. Where could it lead? From here, he couldn't tell. It curved sharply to the right, but after that, it might go anywhere. There was only one way to find out for sure.

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

She was soaked clean through by the time the storm finally let up. Thalia stretched a little as she headed back towards the cornucopia. She hadn't planned on heading back quite so soon, but a dry change of clothes would be nice. Once that was done, then she could head out again.

She was relieved to find that Decima's body was gone, and there was no one else at the cornucopia. Not that she had been expecting anyone, but part of her had wondered if maybe Confidence had returned. But if he had, he was already gone, and he hadn't taken much with him. There was still more than enough to keep her well-supplied for quite a while, and plenty of dry clothes for her to change into.

Thalia rolled her eyes as she chose another silly clown outfit. There didn't seem to be anything better to change into. Maybe it wasn't the most practical outfit, but at least it was dry. That was something. And it would have to be good enough.

Now that the rain was finally letting up, it was starting to grow lighter outside. Thalia yawned, stretching a little. She hadn't gotten much sleep before the screams had woken her and she'd realized Confidence was gone. Then she'd found the other tributes, but…

But she'd hesitated. She still hadn't forgiven herself for that. Yes, there had been four of them, but the girl from Eight had a broken leg, and the girl from Ten was already injured. That left the two younger ones. She should have been able to handle them. She should have attacked. Maybe if she had, the owls wouldn't have intervened.

Next time, she wouldn't hesitate. She couldn't afford to. The Gamemakers didn't take kindly to Careers who didn't take every opportunity they could to kill. The only reason the owls hadn't come after her was probably because she already had three kills. But that wouldn't tide her over forever. All three of those had been near the very start of the Games. After what had happened last night, she would have to convince the audience that she hadn't lost her nerve.

But first she had a few things to take care of. She unpacked some of the food at the back of the cornucopia and ate her fill. Normally, the Careers made sure to ration things, but there were usually _more_ of them. But instead of a full Career pack, it was just her and Confidence now. Maybe just her. She hadn't seen Confidence since the night before. Did that mean he wasn't coming back?

Maybe. If so, that just meant she would have to ration things even less. There was more than enough food to last her for weeks, and, if things kept going at the pace they were going, the Games wouldn't last _weeks_. They were already down to thirteen tributes, and it was only the fourth day. The Games would be over long before she had to worry about running out of food.

So she ate all she could, and drank plenty of water. Best to keep herself hydrated, even if water didn't seem to be at all in short supply. So far, she'd counted at least two hills with logs that were surrounded by water, two ponds, and, in a pinch, plenty of puddles that were forming from the abundance of rainwater. As far as food, there were at least two separate corn fields, plenty of apple trees, fish in the ponds, and a few carts with some sugary substance.

So _she_ certainly wasn't going to starve, and it didn't seem likely that any of the other tributes would, either. She couldn't count on hunger making them desperate and driving them to foolish decisions. That usually started to happen after a while, but this year, she couldn't count on it. She couldn't count on tributes taking the risk of coming back to the cornucopia to get supplies they desperately needed. So she would just have to go find them herself.

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

She had just fallen asleep, it seemed, when the train started rocking violently back and forth. Alexia woke with a start, glancing around frantically. The door of the train had flown open, and Troy was standing next to her, gripping a metal bar that ran along the side of the train car. "What's going on?" Alexia called over the ruckus.

"I don't know!" Troy called back. "I was sleeping, too. Everything just started shaking!"

"We have to get off this train!" But getting off would mean _jumping_. Was that safe at this speed? Safer than staying on the train and crashing, certainly. But those weren't exactly great options. If only they could get the train to slow down a little bit…

But how? They were nowhere near the engine. And there was no telling how long they had before the train went careening into _something_. She certainly didn't want to be onboard when that happened. Alexia edged herself closer to the door, gripping the metal bar tightly with her good hand as the train continued to rumble down the tracks. They passed train station again, the train careening around a curve and almost throwing her out. "We're going to have to jump!" she called to Troy.

Troy's face grew even paler. "Jump?"

Alexia nodded, strangely calm now that the decision had been made, now that she had said it out loud. "We can't stay here. Come on. We'll do it together. On the count of three, all right?"

Troy inched a little closer to the door. "Okay."

Alexia took a deep breath, looking out the door for a soft place to land. There didn't seem to be one, but anything would be better than staying on the train and eventually crashing. "Okay!" she called over the roar of the train. "One! Two! Three!"

She jumped.

She hit the ground hard, and couldn't help crying out as her injured shoulder slammed into the ground. But she was still alive. The train was rumbling away. It was only as she started picking herself up that she realized that Troy wasn't with her. He hadn't jumped. He was still on the train, rumbling off into the distance.

Well, shit.

It was too late to do anything now. Even if she tried to run after the train, she would never catch up with it. She would just have to hope that it wouldn't crash, or that Troy would work up the nerve to jump out before it did. Right now, there was nothing she could do about it one way or the other.

* * *

 **Freya Clearwater, 17  
** **District Four**

The noise of the train in the distance didn't even wake Carlisle. Freya stood up slowly, wondering what had happened to make the train so _loud_ all of a sudden. Just then, there was a scream. But no cannon. Had the train hit someone? Freya rushed towards the train tracks. Maybe this was their chance. Carlisle had suggested that maybe if they could make a kill, the sponsors would be able to send something. If someone had been hurt by the train…

Then what? She could finish them off? Maybe. Freya gripped the knife Carlisle had given her to use while she kept watch, in case something happened. Well, something _had_ happened, even if she wasn't sure yet exactly _what_.

As Freya drew closer to the track, she could see something. Some _one_. A tribute, one of the older girls, picking herself up from where she'd been lying on the ground. It certainly didn't look like the train had hit her. Maybe she'd jumped _off_ the train. Freya took a few cautious steps closer. She didn't appear to be armed – or, if she had been, maybe she'd been in such a hurry that she'd left her weapon on the train. And she _seemed_ to be injured, her arm in some sort of sling.

Still, all Freya had was a knife. Was this a fight she was really going to win? Maybe, but what were the chances that she would come out of it unharmed? Was it worth the risk?

Freya gripped her knife tightly. She had to do _something_. Even if the sponsors weren't impressed enough to send something for Carlisle if she won the fight, the Gamemakers certainly wouldn't let her walk away now – not now that she'd spotted the other girl. Freya hurried a little closer, ducking behind a food cart.

Not quickly enough. The girl saw her, but, suddenly, her eyes grew wide, staring at something in the distance behind Freya. Freya turned, startled, but there was nothing there. When she looked back, the girl had already started running.

 _Idiot_. She'd fallen for the oldest trick in the book. Freya hurried after her, still not quite sure _why_. The girl certainly didn't seem to have any supplies that they needed. She had too much of a head start. But maybe chasing her for a little while would convince the Gamemakers that at least she'd _tried_ to go after another tribute. At least she was _trying_ to play the Games by their rules – the rules she'd been all too aware of when she'd volunteered.

Freya slowed down a little, breathing hard. This was exactly why she had decided to volunteer instead of letting her sister do it. She'd known that Danny didn't have it in her to do what had to be done. But now … now she was beginning to wonder if _she_ did. Her family was counting on her to come home, but did she really have what it took to do that?

Maybe not. Maybe she'd been fooling herself all along. But maybe that was all she needed to do right now – just keep fooling herself, and the audience, a little longer. Maybe if she pretended long enough, she would be able to work up the courage to actually do what she had to do. Maybe. Maybe that would be enough.

* * *

 **Troy Arrowhead, 15  
** **District Twelve**

He hadn't been brave enough. Troy shook his head as the train rumbled on. Alexia had jumped. He'd told her that he would, too. On the count of three, she'd said, and he had agreed. But he hadn't jumped. He'd left her. Or maybe she had left him. Whichever way he thought about it, there was no going back – not unless the train managed to make another pass around the same area.

And that didn't seem particularly likely, because the train was already slowing down. The rumbling had died down a bit once Alexia had jumped; maybe the train wasn't going to crash, after all. Maybe the Gamemakers had simply been trying to scare them into jumping. Maybe they'd _wanted_ to split the two of them up.

If so, it had certainly worked. Troy peered out the door as the train slowed to a stop next to a small grove of trees. He hopped out, his legs a little wobbly, but grateful to be back on solid ground. For a moment, he thought about heading back along the train tracks and trying to find Alexia. But she was so far back, it would probably take him all day to reach her – if she was even in the same place.

Which she probably wouldn't be. In her position, _he_ certainly wouldn't want to stay in the same place. Troy shook his head, heading towards the trees. That seemed as good a place as any to settle down for a while. Between running from the girl from One and the owls, he'd lost most of his supplies. He still had a knife in his pocket, but other than that, he didn't really have a way to defend himself if something happened.

No, _when_ something happened, he reminded himself. There were only thirteen of them left. It was only a matter of time before someone found him – someone who wasn't just interested in sitting around a campfire, roasting fish and singing songs. What had happened to the others, he wondered. Izzy and Isabella? Had they made it away from the owls alive?

Maybe. Certainly at least one of them had, since there had only been one cannon since then. Troy stretched his arms as he neared the trees, which were filled with caramel apples. He'd eaten his fill of fish the night before, and he was more tired than hungry. Still, it was good to know that there was food available.

As he drew a little closer, though, he heard something. Something that sounded almost like … like crying. Troy took a few steps closer to the trees, hoping that it wasn't a trick. That someone wasn't about to leap out and attack him. "Hello?" he called softly.

"Get out of here!" a voice called back. But it didn't sound threatening. More like … desperate, almost. As if whoever it was was trying to warn him about something, or wanted him to leave for his own safety. "You don't want to stay here!"

Troy glanced around, looking for the source of the voice. "Why not?"

Silence for a moment. "Just go. Please, just … just leave."

Then he saw her. The girl from Six, curled up by one of the larger apple trees. She was holding a knife out in front of her, but she didn't look particularly eager to use it. Troy took a few steps closer, holding up his hands. "It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you."

The girl looked away. "You should."

"What do you mean?"

The girl wrapped her arms around her knees. "It's what _I_ would do, if I saw someone alone … trapped … crying. I'd just kill them and get it over with."

Troy swallowed hard, but settled down on the ground next to the girl. "I don't believe that."

"I'm sure you don't," the girl spat. "And maybe you're right. Maybe I'd just get someone _else_ to do the killing for me." She gripped her knife, and, for a moment, Troy thought she was going to attack him, but, instead, she threw it at one of the trees. The end struck the bark before clattering to the ground. "There. I don't want it. _I said it, okay?_ I don't want to _do_ this!"

Troy shook his head. "Look, I know you're upset—"

"Upset?" The girl burst out laughing. "Don't you _get_ it? That's just the thing – I wasn't upset. Not upset enough to _do_ anything, at least. She was just lying there, at the bottom of the pit, and I … I didn't do anything. I just stood there while Cosima killed her, and I … I couldn't … I didn't …" She trailed off, shaking her head. "Just … Just leave me alone."

Troy shook his head, reaching up into one of the trees and picking an apple. "I don't think that's a good idea. Why don't you stay with me for a little while, and then … well, you can figure out what to do from there?"

The girl hesitated. "You mean it?"

"Of course. I'm Troy. What's your name?"

"Clemence."

Troy smiled. "Good to meet you, Clemence."

* * *

 **Carlisle Talbot, 18  
** **District Six**

Carlisle was just starting to shake himself awake when Freya returned. "Where'd you go?" he asked, still a bit drowsy.

Freya shrugged. "Train went by, so I went to see if there might be something useful. The girl from Ten jumped off the train, but she got away."

Carlisle nodded. Of course she did. Neither of them seemed to be very good at actually following through with killing someone. But at least she'd been honest about it. "So what now?" he asked.

"I think we should try to find some food," Freya suggested. "Maybe some water. What we have won't last us forever."

That was certainly true. They'd filled his canteen and her water bottle with rainwater the night before, but it would be good to have a more reliable source of water, rather than counting on it raining often enough to keep them from dying of thirst. "Any idea where to start?" he asked.

Freya shook her head. "If you don't want to go back to the cornucopia…"

Carlisle sighed. They'd discussed it the night before, but had decided against it – at least until they'd exhausted any other options. Yes, the tributes from Two were gone, but that still left plenty of Careers who might be at the cornucopia, and he and Freya weren't particularly well-armed. He still had his sickle, and Freya had a knife he'd given her. But that wouldn't do them much good in a fight against _real_ Careers.

But there didn't seem to be many other options. "Tell you what," Carlisle offered reluctantly. "Let's head in that direction. If we find something along the way, we can stop. If not … well, we can always have a look around, and if we decide it's too dangerous, turn around and run right back here. Well, figuratively speaking."

Freya fell silent. He wouldn't be doing any running – that much was clear. He could walk, but he was clearly in pain whenever he did. But what choice did they have? They couldn't just stay here forever. "Maybe I should just go myself," she suggested.

Carlisle scoffed. "Not a chance in hell."

"You're trying to protect me?"

"I'm trying to protect _me_. You leave me here, and what do you think will happen if someone comes along? No, if we're going to be toast, might as well be toast together."

Freya smirked. "That's the spirit. Let's go." The pair of them set off slowly towards the cornucopia. But the bushes were barely out of sight when Carlisle pointed off to their right. "See that?"

"See what?" Freya asked, squinting.

"I think it's water," Carlisle grinned. "Maybe it's a river."

Freya couldn't help a smile. It was definitely _not_ a river. But it _did_ seem to be a small creek. Maybe a kid from Six didn't really know what the difference was. Either way, it was water, and it was fresh. "Follow it?" Freya asked, but she already knew the answer. Anything seemed like a better option than heading back to the cornucopia.

Carlisle nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

 **Shasta Evans, 17  
** **District Nine**

It was past noon, judging by the sun overhead, when Shasta finally woke up and made his way back to the deck of the ship. His gamble had apparently paid off. No one had found him during the night. He was well-rested, and his back didn't hurt. All in all, things were going pretty well. There had been some potatoes in the bags below decks, so he'd packed several of those back into one of the bags in case he decided he wanted to go somewhere else.

At the moment, though, his best bet was probably to stay put for a while. He had food, water, and a relatively safe place to spend the night. On the whole, he had almost everything he could ask for. Well, except a weapon. He _had_ a weapon, of course – the knife that had been in his backpack at the start of the Games. But that wouldn't do him much good if it came down to a fight against a better-armed tribute.

Shasta glanced around the ship for anything else he could use. After a moment, something caught his eye – something in one of the lifeboats near the end of the ship. It was an oar – nothing special by itself. But maybe he could use his knife to sharpen the end into a spear. It wasn't much, maybe, but at least it was _something_. Something that would have a better reach than the knife he currently had.

Besides, it wasn't as if he had any better ideas. Shasta made his way over to the lifeboat and settled down on the edge, balancing the oar on his knees. There were a few more inside the lifeboat. Not that he would really be able to use more than one spear at a time, but maybe he could throw them or something if someone got too close to the ship.

Right. He'd spent enough time watching some of the tributes throw spears during training to know that it was hard to throw a spear that was balanced _well_ , to say nothing of one that had been carved out of something like an oar. If a tribute _did_ come this way, he was probably better off waiting for them to get closer than he would be throwing, missing, and essentially handing them a weapon.

Shasta ran the edge of his knife along the end of the oar, shaving off a little bit, then a little more, slowly sharpening the end into a point. Maybe it wasn't anything particularly impressive, but it felt good to be _doing_ something again. Something with real, physical results that he could see and touch. Something that _might_ help him win in a fight against … someone.

Who, he wasn't entirely sure. If there had been any cannons during the night, he hadn't been awake enough to hear them, but there probably hadn't been too many. He would find out tonight just how many, but he still had some idea, at least, of who might be left – and how many he might be able to beat in a fight with his spear. Not many of the Careers, probably, unless they happened to already be injured. But as far as the other tributes went…

The girl from Three was still left, as far as he knew. And both of the tributes from Four. They were all around his age, around his size. Well, except the Career from Four, but that didn't really count. Okay, so three Careers. Two tributes around his age. The boy from District Five wasn't much of a threat, and the girl from Six was pretty young, too. Sure, age wasn't everything, but it might give him a bit of an advantage, at least.

Her district partner was still alive, as well, and he was one of the older tributes. The girls from Seven and Eight, as well – but one of them was twelve and the other had a broken leg. The pair from Ten, as far as he knew, were both still alive, along with the boy from Twelve. And that … that made fourteen tributes, along with the two Careers from One.

It didn't seem quite so intimidating, when he thought about it that way. When he thought of each of his opponents individually, rather than as a group of thirteen tributes who might descend on him at any moment and attack. At this point, he wasn't really likely to run into more than one or two of them at a time. Maybe he really did have a chance.

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

They'd finished the bottle of alcohol quite a while ago, but Cosima was still giggling like … well, like a drunk schoolgirl, now that she thought about it. Wade had passed out a while ago and was lying on the ground, snoring. Part of her wanted to do the same, but the last time they had both fallen asleep…

Actually, that had turned out pretty well. Their trap had worked. But it wouldn't work again – and certainly not in daylight. No, one of them had to stay awake. One of them had to be on the lookout for other tributes.

And it might as well be her. She'd been the one to kill the other girl, after all. It had been her idea for a trap, her spear that had pinned the other girl to the wall of the pit. The thought still made her want to throw up, but there was another part of her – a part that she didn't really want to admit – that was almost … almost _proud_. She'd done it. She'd really done it. She'd killed another tribute. It was disgusting. It was horrible.

But it was also what she'd signed up for. She'd known, after all, when she'd volunteered. She'd known exactly what the Games entailed. And she'd volunteered, anyway. Until this morning, there had been a part of her that wondered if maybe that was a mistake. A part that had wondered whether she would really have what it took, once the time came to actually kill.

But she had done it. She _had_ killed. And now … now she was certain she could do it again. Cosima turned a knife over in her hands. She could do it right _now_ , if she wanted. Wade wouldn't be able to do a thing about it, if she decided that he was next. His life was completely in her hands. And that feeling of … of _power_ – it was almost as intoxicating as the alcohol they'd both been drinking.

Suddenly, Wade stirred a little. Slowly, he sat up, holding his head. "What time is it?"

"Sometime in the afternoon," Cosima reasoned, glancing up at the sun. "Headache?"

Wade nodded groggily. "You?"

"Yeah. But that's normal, right?"

"You think I know?"

"Maybe some water?"

Wade nodded a little. "Sounds good." He rubbed his eyes as she dug the water out of one of the bags she and Clemence had taken from the cornucopia.

Clemence. She wondered how Clemence was doing. There hadn't been any cannons, so at least she was still alive. But she wouldn't last long if she couldn't handle the sight of someone dying. Maybe it was better that they had parted ways now, before something _really_ bad happened.

* * *

 **Merric Belgrave, 18  
** **District Four**

At least he'd managed to get a little bit of a fire going. Merric shook his head, watching as the tiny plume of smoke rose into the sky. He'd been hoping for something a little bit bigger – something that might attract Izzy's attention if she was in the area. But everything was so wet, it was a wonder he'd managed to get a fire going at all.

Dexter, meanwhile, had apparently found something. He was grinning as he wheeled a small cart back towards the corn field. "Look what I found!"

Merric raised an eyebrow. Inside the cart was … He could only assume it was food. But it looked more like some sort of fluffy cotton. He tasted a little, only for it to immediately melt away in his mouth. Sugar. It was made of sugar. Merric chuckled a little. Maybe it wasn't particularly filling, but it wasn't as if they were running short on food to keep them full. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to indulge a little.

That seemed to be Dexter's opinion, as well. He took another handful of the strange, sugary substance and gobbled it up. Then another. Merric did the same before taking some more food out of one of their packs. Now was as good a time as any for supper. The sun was beginning to sink a little lower in the sky. Aside from the cannon in the morning, it had been a rather uneventful day.

That worried him. Too many uneventful days in a row weren't a good thing, as far as the Gamemakers were concerned. An uneventful day might very well be followed by a _very_ eventful night if the Gamemakers wanted to spice things up a bit. They would have to be ready for anything.

But eating supper was as good a way as any to make sure they were prepared. For two tributes in the _Hunger_ Games, they certainly hadn't had to do without. Even if they _hadn't_ gathered so many supplies from the cornucopia, they were sitting in the middle of a giant field of corn, and there had been plenty of rainwater to tide over any tributes who hadn't found one of the ponds or hills with logs.

Maybe the Gamemakers were simply feeling generous this year. Or maybe it was an attempt to lull them into thinking that they were safe, that things were going to be okay. Maybe it was even working. Dexter was still grinning, stuffing wad after wad of sugary candy into his mouth. But at the same time, eleven tributes were dead. There were only thirteen of them left. And any one of them could be next.

Merric tossed Dexter some crackers and dried meat. They would have to be careful not to get too comfortable, too complacent. Still, he couldn't deny that it was rather … nice … to just sit around in corn field and have a meal with his ally. He just wished he knew where Izzy was.

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

She just wished she knew where Merric and Dexter might be. After the owls had attacked the night before, she'd headed straight for the corn field, hoping that she would be safe there. And it seemed to have provided her enough protection from the owls, at least. Or maybe she wasn't the one the owls had been interested in. Either way, she was safe … but no closer to finding her allies.

She hadn't realized before just how _large_ the corn field was. How tall the corn itself was. Even if Merric and Dexter _were_ in here somewhere, how was she supposed to find them? She couldn't even seem to find her way back to the edge of the field?

She could always try to plow through the stalks, of course, instead of staying on the path. And if she was certain that Merric and Dexter were in the area – and that they were the _only_ ones in the area – then she might have done exactly that. But, as it was, the noise might attract any other tributes who were nearby, and she had no way of knowing who that might be.

Except that wasn't exactly true. She'd seen the girl from One running off in the opposite direction away from the owls. Troy and Alexia had been running in the same direction as she had – more or less – but they'd been a bit faster. And Isabella … she hadn't been able to run. Did that mean the most recent cannon had been hers? But there had been quite a bit of time between when the owls had attacked and the sound of the cannon. Izzy's stomach turned. How long had it taken the older girl to die?

 _Stop it_. She had no way of knowing whether Isabella was, in fact, the one who had died. And even if she was, it wasn't as if they'd been friends. All they'd really shared was a name, a few fish, and some silly songs around a campfire. She would've had to die eventually. _All_ of them had to die eventually.

Suddenly, she saw something in the distance, rising over the ears of corn. Smoke. Not much smoke, maybe, but a few wisps of grey rising towards the sky in the setting sun. Izzy ducked a little lower. What did the smoke mean? Was the corn field about to catch on fire? No. No, not when it was this wet. The smoke probably just meant that a tribute was trying to light a fire. Probably not very successfully, from the look of it.

Maybe…

Izzy took a few steps towards the smoke. Maybe it was Merric and Dexter. Maybe they were trying to signal to her – or maybe they were just cooking some food. Maybe. But 'maybe' wasn't good enough. Not after what had happened the last time she'd gone towards a fire.

Izzy closed her eyes. No. No, she couldn't risk it. Not right now, when it was almost dark out. The sun was beginning to set behind the corn field. Maybe in the morning, she could figure out whether she wanted to investigate the smoke – if it was still there. For now, she would just have to settle down for the night.

* * *

 **Dexter Guernsey, 13  
** **District Ten**

Maybe he shouldn't have eaten so much candy, Dexter realized as his stomach continued to churn. "I told you to eat something else, too," Merric chided, but he was laughing a little as he said it. Dexter couldn't help smiling a little, as well. It seemed like such a strange problem to have in the Hunger Games – eating _too much_ food. But here they were, with pretty much everything they could ask for.

Everything except Izzy. Dexter leaned back against one of the backpacks as the sun continued to sink lower in the sky. "Tomorrow," Merric assured him, as if he'd read the younger boy's mind. "Tomorrow we'll find her."

"Promise?"

Merric hesitated, and Dexter immediately regretted asking such an unfair question. That wasn't something that anyone could promise in the Games. He couldn't even promise that Izzy's face wouldn't appear in the sky in a little while. There had been a cannon early in the morning; they had no way of knowing who it had belonged to. Only one cannon, but still…

"If she's still alive, we'll find her," Merric clarified. "I promise."

As if in answer, a soft pinging noise filled the air, and a parachute dropped into Merric's lap. Merric chuckled a little. "There! I told you so. It must be a clue."

As he unwrapped the package, however, it wasn't particularly clear what the clue _was_. Inside was a small hatchet – another weapon they certainly didn't need. "A hatchet for District Seven, maybe?" Merric offered, examining the handle for any writing. But there was nothing. "How is this supposed to help us find her?"

"Maybe it's simpler than that," Dexter suggested. "Maybe it just means that she's nearby. Maybe we just have to … well, call for her?"

Merric raised an eyebrow. "You mean just start shouting?"

Dexter shrugged. "Why not?"

There were plenty of good reasons, of course, why they shouldn't do that. But Merric didn't offer any of them as objections. Instead, he simply nodded. "Okay." He stood up, cupping his hands to his mouth. "Izzy! Izzy, we're over here!"

Dexter quickly joined him. "Izzy! Izzy, can you hear us? Izzy!"

Merric held up his hand, listening. Silently, the pair waited for an answer. After a moment, a distant voice called back. "Dexter? Merric?"

"Over here!" Merric shouted, grabbing a spear that they'd taken from the cornucopia and waving it high above his head. "Can you see us?"

"Yes!" The voice was closer now. There was a little rustling in the corn, and then Izzy burst out. "Dexter! Merric!"

Merric immediately dropped the spear and threw his arms around Izzy, who couldn't help wincing in pain. "Are you all right?" Dexter asked.

Izzy nodded. "My shoulder. The boy from Six – he almost killed me, but…"

"You killed him, instead?" Dexter guessed. "Was that his cannon?"

Izzy shook her head. "No. He just … He let me get away. I guess I just got lucky."

Dexter smiled. "Seems to be a lot of that going around. Not that I'm complaining." The three of them settled down as the Capitol anthem began to play. Things were starting to look a bit better already.

* * *

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.**

 **20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.**

 **19th - Stanley Newton, D3. Stabbed with a katana by Thalia Gold.**

 **18th - Cherry Thatch, D11. Stabbed with a spear by Decima Clear.**

 **17th - Garth Kain, D11. Stomach and throat sliced by Carlisle Talbot.**

 **16th - Emilia Rey Fumero, D12. Stabbed in the back by Wade Larthey.**

 **15th - Decima Clear, D2. Stabbed in the back by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **14th - Isabella Thatcher, D8. Drowned in a pit trap after being speared by Cosima Byte.**

* * *

 **District Placements:**

 **12th - District 11 - Best Placement: 17th**

 **11th - District 2 - Best Placement: 15th**

 **10th - District 8 - Best Placement: 14th**


	33. Night Four - Single Elimination

**Night Four  
** **Single Elimination**

* * *

 _Single Elimination: A tournament in which players are eliminated after a single defeat._

* * *

 **Izzy Thatch, 12  
** **District Seven**

Izzy rewrapped the bandage around her shoulder as the Capitol anthem continued to play. After only a moment, Merric scooted over to help her. "Here," he offered, wrapping the bandage a little tighter. "You'll be right as rain in no time."

Izzy cringed. She _hoped_ it wouldn't rain any more. "Thanks," she muttered as one face appeared in the sky. Isabella, the girl from Eight. So she was dead, after all. Izzy shook her head. It was impressive she'd made it as far as she had, with a broken leg and all. It had only been a matter of time before it caught up with her.

Hers was the only face in the sky. Eleven tributes dead – almost half. The Games were almost halfway over, and it was only the fourth night. How much longer before…?

No. No, she couldn't start thinking like that. Not right after she had finally found her allies again. They were going to stay together as long as they could – that had been the plan. If she hadn't trusted them, then she shouldn't have come back in the first place. They were a team – at least, as long as they could be.

As long as they could be.

Dexter smiled a little. "Looks like Alexia's still alive."

Izzy nodded. "I saw her last night."

Dexter perked up. "Where?"

"Down by the pond. But she's not there anymore. The girl from One found us, and then some owl mutts."

Merric shook his head. "I'm just glad you got away."

"I guess the other Isabella wasn't so lucky," Izzy reasoned. "She was with Alexia – and the boy from Twelve."

Dexter smiled. "I guess we're not the only ones who decided there was strength in numbers, after all. Especially now that there aren't many Careers left." He glanced up at Merric. "Well, not many Careers who are with the pack."

"Not much of a pack if Thalia was alone," Merric pointed out. "I wonder where Confidence went off to."

Izzy shrugged. "Better for us if they're not working together, anyway." She hadn't seen the boy from One anywhere near the girl, and she certainly hadn't acted like she'd been expecting backup. If the Careers had already split, that could only be good for the rest of them.

Suddenly, a noise behind her – a rustling in the corn – caught her attention. "You all really need to keep it down," a voice slurred. "Or someone else might find you – someone who's not feeling quite so nice."

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

Why couldn't they just keep it _down_? Cosima laughed a little as she stepped out of the corn, Wade close behind her. The Capitol anthem had been loud enough on its own, but before that two of these idiots had been screaming their heads off trying to find the other one. They were lucky someone more dangerous hadn't found them.

That wouldn't last long, though. Her best bet was to get as far away from them as possible. They were a target – but they were also a target she didn't feel like fighting. Not after what had happened this morning, and not after seeing that there were _three_ of them. Or maybe six of them. She couldn't quite tell.

The older boy stood up immediately, stepping between her and the others – however many of them there were. "What do you want?"

Cosima chuckled. "Oh, I just wanted to give you a warning to _shut up_ before you get yourselves killed with all your chattering. You'll be dead by morning if you keep going on like that."

"We're not any louder than you," the girl cut in cheekily.

Cosima scoffed. She and Wade were being _perfectly_ quiet. "You wish."

The boy relaxed a little. "You're drunk."

"Damn right we're drunk," Wade spat back. "You would be, too, if you knew … knew what was good for you." He stumbled forward a little, nearly falling over, but Cosima caught him, and the pair of them tumbled to the ground together. The older boy took a step closer, as if deciding what to do about them. Maybe wondering if he should kill them.

Cosima giggled. "You should probably do it. It would be smart."

The boy, however, apparently wanted to play dumb. "Do what?"

"Kill us. Smart move, really. Two tributes down, two kills for you. That's what you Careers want, right? More blood on your hands? But if you _kill_ someone who has blood on _their_ hands, does that mean you have more blood on yours, or less? Huh. Didn't think about that. Wonder if she killed anybody."

"Who?" the younger boy piped up.

Wade shook his head. "The idiot who fell into our trap this morning."

"Isabella," the girl answered softly. "Her name was Isabella."

"Funny," Wade slurred. "I coulda sworn _your_ name was Isabella."

"It is."

"Huh. Ain't that something. C'mon, Cosima, let's get out of here. It's too confusing."

Cosima shrugged and followed Wade back towards the edge of the corn field. None of the others seemed interested in following. Maybe that was the right choice, after all. For all the other three knew, it was all an act. For all they knew, she and Wade were just _pretending_ to be drunk. Cosima giggled a little, ruffling Wade's hair as the pair of them headed for a tree in the distance. "Let's go, kiddo. If they want to scream at the top of their lungs, let them."

"I'm not…" Wade trailed off for a moment. "Were they really screaming?"

Cosima cringed. "Like banshees. Maybe you need your hearing checked."

Wade shrugged. "Remind me to tell the Capitol that when I win." He turned his gaze to the sky. "Hear that, folks? Cosima says I need my hearing checked!" He stumbled forward, nearly collapsing again as the two of them reached a tree full of candy apples. Wade grinned a little. "Anyone up for a climb?"

* * *

 **Shasta Evans, 17  
** **District Nine**

He'd just started to lie down to go to sleep when the boat suddenly started rocking. Shasta slowly got to his feet and made his way above decks. Sure enough, the boat was swinging back and forth from the pole it was attached to. Maybe it didn't mean anything. Maybe the boat was just _supposed_ to do that. But it was better not to take that risk.

Shasta gripped his makeshift spear as the ship began to rock a little more violently. It felt as if it was going to swing off the pole at any moment. He gripped the side of the ship for balance as it neared the bottom of another swing, then rose back up again into the air. He would just have to hope it would hold together for one more swing…

The next time the ship reached the bottom, Shasta jumped off, back onto solid ground. "Okay," he muttered. "Okay. I can take a hint." It was as if the Gamemakers were trying to tell him to get moving … or else. Or else they would do something a lot worse than rocking a boat back and forth.

Shasta gripped his spear, reaching into his pocket to make sure his knife was still there. It was. He was about as ready as he was ever going to be. Silently, he headed off into the dark. If he could find a better place to stay the night, fine. If not … well, maybe he could find another tribute. Maybe the rocking of the ship was supposed to be a hint that someone else was nearby, that maybe leaving the ship was not only necessary, but a good idea.

He liked that idea – mostly because it meant that maybe – just maybe – the Gamemakers were trying to help him out. After all, if they'd just wanted to kill him, they could certainly have sent some sort of mutts onto the ship. Or they could have waited until he fell asleep, and _then_ sent the mutts aboard. He wouldn't have stood a chance.

Instead, they'd given him the chance to get off the ship voluntarily, no worse for the wear. He still had his food, his weapons, and his wits. He just had to keep moving, keep doing _something_ that would hold the audience's attention.

Shasta turned his attention towards the Ferris wheel in the distance – the Ferris wheel where he had spent the first night of the Games. That seemed like such a long time ago now. There hadn't been anyone else there at the time, but after three days, there was no telling who might be there. In any case, unless the Gamemakers were going to give him a more specific hint about which direction to go, it was as good a place as any to start.

* * *

 **Confidence Best, 16  
** **District One**

He was starting to regret going down into the tunnels. Now he had no way of knowing who was dead. He'd heard the Capitol anthem a while back, but the faces in the sky were hidden from him. He wasn't even sure how _many_ tributes were left. Had there been any more cannons? Would he have been able to hear them down here?

Confidence gripped his mace a little more tightly. He'd thought about heading back a few times, but had decided against it. After all, there didn't seem to be anything particularly dangerous down here – just dark. Besides, by now it would probably take just as long – if not longer – to find the way back to where he had come from than to just keep going.

But keep going _where_? He'd been assuming this whole time that there _was_ another side of the tunnel, that he would be able to get out _somewhere_. But what if it was a trap? What if there _was_ no other way out, and he got stuck down here until someone found him, or until the tunnel collapsed or flooded or something? Confidence shook his head, stopping in his tracks. He had to get out of here. He'd been going too long. If the tunnel was going to lead somewhere, it would have by now.

Wouldn't it?

Yes. That was the only explanation. There _was_ no other way out. Confidence whirled around, heading back the way he had come. _Okay. Just go back. No harm done_.

Just then, he saw something – something coming down the tunnels after him. For a moment, he thought it was another tribute, but then he recognized the familiar shuffling motion. Clown mutts. "Really?" Confidence muttered. "More of these things?"

He swung his mace at the first one, but it didn't budge. Instead, it simply stood there, blocking his path. Another one quickly joined it – and another. Confidence swung again, confused. They'd been so easy to take apart before. What was he doing wrong?

The next time he swung, one of the clowns gripped his mace, flinging it to the ground, and Confidence along with it. "Well, shit," Confidence muttered. "Is this supposed to be a hint?" He scrambled to his feet and swung again, striking one of the clowns in the head. It didn't budge. A third clown reached out and gave him a shove.

"Fine," Confidence muttered, scooping up his mace and heading in the other direction. The clowns followed, one next to the other, still blocking the way back. Confidence sped up a little, still grumbling. He would just have to hope there was another exit. If there wasn't…

If there wasn't, the clowns would probably kill him. It was as simple as that. But what would the point of that be? The whole purpose of having a tunnel in the arena in the first place would be to allow tributes to sneak up on each other. If it was simply here for mutts to kill tributes, they could have done that above ground – and with much better lighting.

No, there had to be another way out. He wasn't going to die down here. He _couldn't_ die down here. He still had so much to do.

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

There wasn't much left to do at the cornucopia. The Capitol anthem had woken her, revealing only one face in the sky – the girl from Eight. That wasn't much of a surprise. More of a surprise that she'd lasted as long as she had, really. Probably the owls that had done her in, though they seemed to have taken their time, judging from the gap between when they'd attacked and the cannon that had sounded the next morning.

Still, that was one more tribute down. Thirteen of them left. Twelve more tributes who had to die before the Games were over. Before she could go home.

Home. Thalia wrapped a blanket a little tighter around her shoulders. Of course she _wanted_ to go home. That was the point of the Games, after all – to fight, to kill, to win, and then to go back home to her family, to her district, to the people who would be singing her praises for years to come. But then…

Then what? She'd never really given much thought to that part. After the Games, then what? Mentoring, certainly, but that was only once a year. Or once every _few_ years, probably, in a district like One where there were plenty of other Victors to share mentoring duties. What was she supposed to do the rest of the time?

Anything she wanted. That was what anyone else would say, if they were asked – especially in District One. Victors got to do whatever they wanted. But what she wanted, what she'd _always_ wanted, was to win the Games. Once that was done, she wasn't entirely sure _what_ she would want to do.

 _Stop it_. There would be plenty of time to figure that out later. After she won. After that was done, she could sort out the rest. First, she had to focus. First, she had to win.

And in order to do that, she would have to stay awake. She'd gotten a little rest during the day, and had fallen asleep sooner than she'd meant to. But now that it was dark … well, that was usually when tributes tried to sneak back to the cornucopia to grab something, if they were going to try something like that. Maybe that was even what had happened to Decima. And she wasn't _about_ to let the same thing happen to her.

Thalia stood up slowly, shrugging off her blanket. If she wasn't going to get any sleep, then she might as well do something that might draw in a tribute or two. The night was getting colder, so maybe a fire. Yes, that was just the thing. There were some supplies in the cornucopia that would still be dry enough, and a couple trees near enough to provide some wood. Besides, that would be just the thing to take her mind off…

Off what? Home? Thalia headed for the trees and started gathering some wood. Thinking about home wasn't really a problem; it was just that she didn't have any good answers. She'd spent her entire life training for the Games. Once that wasn't her main goal – her _only_ goal – then what would be?

Right now, though, her only goal was staying alive. Outliving the other twelve tributes who were still alive, still out there somewhere in the arena. That was enough of a job for now.

Finally, she had a large enough pile of wood gathered. Thalia took a box of matches she'd found inside the cornucopia and lit one. The flames licked eagerly up at the wood, catching almost immediately. Soon, she had a nice, warm fire.

Maybe that would be enough to attract some company. That was how she'd found the four tributes the night before, after all – singing around a fire. Maybe someone would be foolish enough to think that was a good idea. After all, she'd already had _one_ tribute think it was a good idea to snuggle up to a sleeping Career.

Then again, he'd _survived_. He was _still_ alive. So maybe he wasn't as stupid as she'd thought. Or maybe he was just lucky. Not that it mattered. He could only get lucky for so long. It was only a matter of time before someone found him, before someone killed him. Just like it was only a matter of time before _she_ killed someone. Maybe she would even kill _him_.

* * *

 **Freya Clearwater, 17  
** **District Four**

The pinging noise caught her entirely by surprise. Freya looked up, startled, giving Carlisle a little shake. The night was wearing on; the two of them had already traded shifts twice. There hadn't seemed to be much of anything else they could accomplish for the night. The creek that Carlisle had found had led them to a ship, but it was too dark to get a good look around. Too dark to see if there might already be someone onboard.

So that would have to wait until tomorrow – and with it, she had assumed, any chance of doing something that might attract the sponsors' attention. But from the pair of parachutes that came floating to the ground beside them, she'd been mistaken about that.

Carlisle couldn't help a chuckle when he saw the packages. "Well, what do you know. Maybe they don't hate us, after all." He tossed Freya a large bundle with a "4" on it, and opened the other one himself. "A baseball?" he asked, confused. "What are we supposed to do with that?"

" _Careful_ with that," Freya hissed, as if talking too loudly might set it off. "It's an explosive. Before ducking into the cornucopia, she'd seen the boy from Twelve throw one at the boy from Eight. That seemed like such a long time ago.

Carlisle set the baseball down gingerly. "What'd you get?"

Freya opened her package, then showed him. "A blanket – warm one, from the look of it." She gave a little wave towards the sky. "Thanks, Mags!"

"Thanks, Bertie," Carlisle echoed, before falling strangely silent. "I wonder…"

"What?"

"Whether something happened to Clemence."

Freya raised an eyebrow. "Why would you say that?"

"Just wondering whether there's a reason Bertie suddenly decided to focus on me."

Freya chuckled a little. "Suddenly? I'd say saving his kid is a good enough reason to want to send you something."

"But not a good enough reason for the _sponsors_ to want to send me something," Carlisle reasoned. "So … what changed? Why am I suddenly the better option? Maybe something happened to Clemence."

Freya shook her head. "Well, aren't _you_ just a ray of sunshine. I suppose you think something happened to Merric, as well."

Carlisle shrugged. "No way to know, really."

"We know they're not dead," Freya pointed out. Both of their district partners were still alive. Not much of a surprise for District Four, maybe, but for District Six … not bad. "Why don't you go back to sleep," Freya suggested, handing him the blanket. "We can set _this_ over here somewhere." She took the baseball and set it far away from them, and still a good distance from the railroad tracks. If a train came along, the last thing they wanted was for the vibrations to set off an explosion.

"Wait." Carlisle glanced over at the baseball. "What if it's a suggestion? What if we're supposed to _do_ something with it?"

"Obviously, we're supposed to explode something," Freya chuckled.

"No, I meant right _now_. What if they sent it _now_ because there's something we're supposed to do?"

"Like what?"

Carlisle glanced over at the ship. "Maybe that. Maybe there's someone on there, and we can save ourselves some time by just … exploding it instead of looking for them."

"You think the explosion would be strong enough to blow up the whole ship?"

Carlisle hesitated, rethinking. "Maybe not. It just seems like an odd thing to send when…"

"When there would certainly be more obviously useful things," Freya finished. "Like some sort of medicine for your legs."

"That's where I would have started," Carlisle reasoned. "So why an explosive, instead?"

Freya shrugged. "Who knows? I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

She would just have to wait until morning to find her way out of the cornfield. Alexia shook her head, frustrated, as she sank down near one of the larger corn stalks. After running away from the girl from Four, she'd found a pond, and had quickly noticed the corn field nearby. She'd just wanted some food, but she'd wandered a bit too far into the maze, and had lost track of which way she had come. Once it had gotten dark … well, it had seemed a better idea to stay put.

But now it was getting colder. Alexia shook her head. She should have stayed by the pond, or maybe the train station that had been close to it. Maybe it would have been warmer in there. No, it would almost _certainly_ have been warmer in there. But, no, she'd had to go find some food and start wandering through a corn maze. Great. Just great.

Alexia couldn't help a sigh as she lay down. If she was going to end up just waiting out the night, anyway, she might as well get some sleep. The advantage of being lost, after all, was that it seemed unlikely that another tribute would have made the same mistake. Unlikely that they would get lost in _exactly_ the same place, choose exactly the same wrong paths. Maybe it was a bit frustrating, but at least she was probably safe.

Probably. There was no guarantee, of course. But there never were. There was nothing certain, especially in the Games. She would just have to hope that she would get lucky.

Alexia adjusted the sling around her arm. She'd already gotten luckier than eleven other tributes – even if it didn't feel like it at the moment. There were eleven other tributes who weren't _alive_ to complain about getting lost, or be frustrated that their arm still felt like it might fall off at any moment. There were eleven of them who were already gone. Already dead. At least she had it better than them.

But that wasn't good enough. _Couldn't_ be good enough, if she wanted to survive. She couldn't settle for simply living longer than eleven tributes, or fifteen, or even twenty-two. If she wanted to survive the Games, she had to live longer than twenty- _three_ of them. Which meant that she would have to fight.

That wasn't something she'd really done so far – not effectively, at least. She'd tried to defend herself against the boy from One, but that hadn't gone so well. Before that, she and Troy had run from the girl from One. But those had both been Careers. It wasn't _her_ fault she hadn't ended up facing a fight with someone more on her level.

Except … maybe it was. She and Troy had had the opportunity to attack the girl from Four, who wasn't a Career. Instead, they'd only asked to share her shelter. They could have killed the girl from Eight – easily. She'd had a broken leg; she would never have been able to outrun them, let alone outfight them. Instead, they'd caught fish together. And when the girl from Seven had wandered in, they'd welcomed her, too, rather than taking the opportunity for what would probably have been an easy kill.

Alexia closed her eyes. If she wanted to survive, she would have to stop befriending every tribute who happened to cross her path. Maybe it was a good thing, then, that she'd gotten separated from Troy. If they'd stayed together, then…

Then what? Would she really have killed him? Or would they have had more of a chance together? She would never know now. Even if Troy was looking for her, he would probably be looking in the wrong place. She was nowhere near where she'd jumped from the train now. And she had no way of knowing where – or if – he'd gotten off the train.

No, it was a matter of where. Obviously, he'd gotten off at some point. He was still alive, and there was no way that train was still going. She would have heard it chugging by. The corn field wasn't _that_ far from the train tracks. No, he was out there somewhere. And if she was lucky, they wouldn't find each other again.

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

They were just lucky the other three tributes hadn't tried to kill them. He wasn't quite as hungover as Cosima was, and had even tried to stop her from going after the tributes who were shouting in the fields. But he apparently hadn't been quite sober enough to realize that he didn't _have_ to follow her.

Sober enough to climb a tree, though. And by morning, he would be right as rain. At least, he hoped so. Now that some of the alcohol had begun to wear off, his head was throbbing, and his heart seemed to be pounding quite loudly. Or maybe it was Cosima's. Or maybe he was just imagining things. He wasn't entirely sure, and that was the problem. If there was one thing that was necessary in order to survive the Games, it was a clear head. And that was exactly what he didn't have right now.

Wade leaned back against the tree trunk, clinging tightly to the branches of the tree despite having already strapped himself in. He and Cosima weren't going anywhere unless the tree was going with him. Wade giggled a little. That was a funny image – the tree simply picking itself up and moving. It seemed like something out of a comic book, but he couldn't remember anything like that happening in the ones he'd read.

Maybe he would just have to write it himself, if he made it out alive. It would make a good story – certainly a better one than what was _really_ happening. Wade glanced up through the branches at Cosima, who had climbed a little higher than he had. _Any_ of his comic books would be better than this.

And they would have a better ending, too, no matter how this turned out. Because even if he survived, everyone else would have to die. That was never the way things turned out in stories. The heroes usually found a way to save the people they loved. Usually. And even when they didn't, it was only one or two people who died – not twenty-three.

Eleven. Eleven people so far. Not that he'd been particularly close to any of them, of course. Even Emerson, his district partner. They hadn't really been _that_ close. And she'd died the first day of the Games.

That seemed like such a long time ago. It was hard to believe it had only been four days. Four days in the arena. It seemed like a lifetime. And for twenty-three tributes, it _would_ be the rest of their lifetime. He just hoped he wouldn't be one of those. He'd been lucky to make it this far – luck and a few smart choices. But if he wanted to make it out of the Games, he would have to do even better.

* * *

 **Merric Belgrave, 18  
** **District Four**

The first hints of light were beginning to peek through the corn when Dexter woke him again, ready to trade off shifts. "All's quiet?" Merric guessed.

Dexter nodded. "No cannons. Which seems a bit … odd, I guess. Slow. There was only one cannon yesterday, and only one the day before. Do you think maybe it's time for us to leave?"

Merric raised an eyebrow. "Leave?"

"Leave the cornfield, I mean," Dexter clarified. "Now that we've found Izzy … well, maybe it's time to head somewhere else. Go looking for … something."

"Some _one_ ," Merric corrected. "You think that's a good idea?"

"It's what the Careers would do," Dexter pointed out. "But there aren't many of them left. We're probably one of the biggest groups left in the arena. Maybe it's time we…"

"Time we started acting like it?" Merric finished.

"Well … yeah."

Merric smiled a little. " _You_ want to go hunting?"

"Izzy already killed a Career," Dexter pointed out.

"A Career who had her back turned," Merric countered. "Anyone who's made it this far won't make the same mistake. Besides, I wasn't talking about Izzy. I was talking about _you_."

"You don't think I can do it?"

"I didn't say that. I was asking if _you_ think you can."

"I…" Dexter hesitated, and Merric laid a hand on his shoulder. "I _should_ be able to," Dexter answered quietly. "It's what we're here for, after all."

"It is," Merric agreed. "But you didn't sign up for it."

"Doesn't matter. Neither did Izzy, and she killed—"

"We're not talking about Izzy. We're talking—"

"About me," Dexter nodded. "I know. I just … I want to think I would have done the same thing, in her place. If a Career had been threatening _her_ , and I'd been able to sneak up and stab them … I think I would have been able to do it."

Merric fell silent for a moment, then nodded. "I think so, too. But protecting a friend and actively hunting for other tributes to kill … those are two different things."

"And you volunteered for the second one," Dexter pointed out. "Don't you think the Capitol is going to eventually expect you to start acting like a Career? Especially since there aren't many left."

Merric gave Dexter a pat on the back. "All right. You win. In the morning, we'll get out of this corn field. If we run into someone else … well, we can probably handle them. If we don't find anyone…" _All the better_. He didn't say it, but he couldn't help thinking it. There was a part of him that didn't _want_ to find anyone, that didn't _want_ to go hunting, that would rather stay where he was and protect his allies. The trouble was, of course, that he couldn't protect them forever.

* * *

 **Dexter Guernsey, 13  
** **District Ten**

Merric wouldn't be able to protect him forever. Dexter lay down and closed his eyes, but he already knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep. He'd already pretended to sleep through Izzy's shift before she'd woken him. A part of him felt bad for letting his allies be the ones to keep watch if he was going to be awake, anyway. But if he told them that he couldn't sleep, they would probably start to get worried. And the last thing they needed was to worry about him.

It was the last thing _he_ needed, too – worry. After all, he had two allies. The wound in his leg had almost completely healed. They had food. They had water. They had pretty much all the supplies they could ask for. What more was there to worry about?

And that was the problem, of course. Things seemed just a little bit _too_ good. A little bit _too_ easy. It was only a matter of time before the Gamemakers decided they weren't doing enough, that they weren't holding people's attention. It was only a matter of time before the audience tired of watching them wander around the corn field.

Which was why he had suggested to Merric that they go hunting. Even if they didn't run into anyone, even if they didn't _kill_ anyone, the mere fact that they were trying to – or at least _looked_ like they were trying to – might be enough to appease the audience, and, in turn, the Gamemakers. If they acted like they were _about_ to do something, the Gamemakers might let it go for a while.

But eventually, that intention would have to turn into action. If they wanted the Gamemakers to _keep_ leaving them alone, they would have to do _something_. Something real. Something concrete. Something more than trading shifts around a dismal attempt at a fire.

But Merric was right about hunting for other tributes being different than protecting each other. Izzy had only killed the girl from Two because she'd been about to kill _him_. If they were going to go hunting, that meant they wouldn't simply be able to let the other tributes go. The girl from Three and the boy from Five, after all, had wandered by a little while ago. Should they have killed _them_? Maybe, but the thought made him sick.

Careers were one thing, after all. They had volunteered for this. As much as he liked Merric, the fact was that he'd volunteered knowing that he would have to kill. That he would have to kill other _kids_. So the idea of killing another Career – as Izzy had – maybe that wasn't so bad. They'd known what they were signing up for.

Maybe the other volunteers, as well. The boy from Six had volunteered, as had the girl from Three, now that he thought about it. They were still out there. Did that mean that it would be easier to kill them? Maybe. But that hadn't even occurred to him when the girl from Three had passed by them. He hadn't remembered that she'd been a volunteer – only that she was a tribute, just like him.

Just like him. Just like _any_ of them. In the end, none of them were all that different. Not even the Careers. Merric seemed just as reluctant to kill as the rest of them, after all. The girl from One had let him go. The girl from two had let him talk while they were at the cornucopia, which had allowed him to stall long enough for Izzy to kill her. Maybe the Careers were a bit crazy for volunteering for this, but they were still human. They still didn't deserve this.

Nobody deserved this. That was the problem. None of them deserved to die, but they were all here, anyway. And twenty-three of them _were_ going to die, one way or another. If he didn't want to be _one_ of those twenty-three, he would have to start fighting. He would have to kill. And he couldn't worry about whether the people he was killing were Careers or not, whether they'd signed up for this or not, whether they _deserved_ this or not. In the end, none of that mattered. All that mattered was that, now more than ever, he wanted to go home.

* * *

 **Troy Arrowhead, 15  
** **District Twelve**

It was starting to get a little lighter out when Troy finally gave Clemence's shoulder a shake. She'd been sleeping for a while – probably longer than they'd agreed – but she'd needed it. Whatever had happened the day before had clearly shaken her up, so once she'd managed to finally fall asleep, he hadn't wanted to wake her. But now _he_ was getting tired, and he couldn't keep watch if he couldn't keep his eyes open. And the last thing he needed was to get an ally killed because he couldn't keep himself awake.

So he gave her shoulder another shake, and she finally began to stir. She sat up a little, rubbing her eyes. "Morning?"

"Almost," Troy agreed. "It's getting light out, but we can keep trading shifts for a while. I don't have anywhere to be."

That was certainly true. He'd thought about trying to find Alexia, but she could be anywhere by now. Probably better to just stick with his new ally for a while, if he could. And Clemence seemed perfectly content to stay with him. She sat up a little more, propping herself up against the tree nearby. "All right. Your turn to get some sleep, then."

Troy smiled a little as he lay down. "Thanks."

No sooner had he closed his eyes, however, than Clemence gave him a shake. "I didn't even get to fall asleep," he grumbled. "What is it?"

"Shhhh," Clemence whispered as he sat up a little. "Over there."

"Where?"

She pointed towards one of the trees further in the distance. "Behind that tree. I think … I think there's someone there."

Troy stood up, peering into the darkness. The arena was getting a little lighter, but not light enough to see who might be coming. "Maybe we'd better get out of here, then," Troy suggested, stepping between Clemence and whatever might be hiding behind the tree. "Before—"

Before he could finish the sentence, however, something came flying towards him. Troy didn't even have time to dodge before pain shot through his chest. As he looked down, he could see why. A knife was lodged deep in his chest. Troy dropped to his knees, suddenly dizzy. Lightheaded. Was that normal?

Normal. As if there was such a thing as a 'normal' reaction to seeing a knife sticking out of your chest. He was vaguely aware of Clemence tugging at his arm, telling them that they had to go – _now_. He looked up to see one of the older boys – the one from District Nine – approaching, a spear in his hand. "Why?" Troy gasped as Clemence took off into the darkness. "Why? What did I do to you?"

The older boy hesitated – but only for a moment. "Tell me you wouldn't do the same thing."

No. No, he wouldn't. But he _had_. But he hadn't _meant_ to. Troy's mind was spinning as the other boy lunged, spear in hand. He tried to dodge, but he was too slow. Too tired. Troy tried not to look as the spear pierced his chest. But he could feel the blood, warm and wet, as the older boy pulled the spear out. Troy gasped, tears in his eyes. So this was it. This was how he was going to…

To die. The word didn't scare him so much, now that it came down to it. It didn't have quite the same power, quite the same terror that it had before. Death meant that the pain would stop. That he would finally get to rest. Maybe that wasn't so bad, after all. He just wished he could have seen his family one last time…

* * *

 **Clemence Aldrin, 14  
** **District Six**

 _Boom_. Clemence brushed the tears from her eyes as she ran. She'd been expecting the cannon, of course, but that didn't make it any better. Any easier. Troy was dead. He'd only wanted to help her, and now he was dead.

What had she been thinking, teaming up with _anyone_? Clemence clenched her fists, slowing down a little. Maybe she was starting to lose it. She'd known allying with _anyone_ at this point was a bad idea. Especially someone like Troy. Someone who had just wanted to talk and pick apples and … and just _live_. It was a wonder there was anyone like that still left in the Games.

Maybe there wasn't. Maybe he had been the last one. Clemence glanced back one last time to make sure the boy from Nine wasn't following her. He wasn't. She'd had too much of a head start, since he had stayed to…

To kill Troy. Troy was dead. And she was alive. She was still alive. Maybe that was what mattered, but it still felt wrong to think about it like that now that her friend was dead.

No. No, not her _friend_. Barely her ally. She hadn't really known him. They'd been allies for less than a day. She shouldn't be this upset. She shouldn't be.

But she was.

Because it wasn't just Troy. It wasn't just his face as the knife had struck his chest. It was the look on the girl from Eight's face as Cosima's spear had pierced through her. It was the boy from Eleven as Carlisle's sickle had sliced across his neck. It was all of that rolled into one, and it wasn't _fair_. It wasn't _right_. None of this was right.

But there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing she could do to stop any of it. Clemence shook her head as she slowed to a walk, coming closer and closer to the railroad tracks in the distance. The sun was slowly rising off to her right. That meant she was heading north. At least that meant she probably wouldn't run into Cosima and Wade, as long as they had stayed where they were.

And why wouldn't they? They'd pretty much had things made. _She'd_ had things made, before she'd gone and left them. Now all she had was her knife, the rope in her pocket, and a few of the caramel apples that she and Troy had picked earlier.

Her knife. She still had her knife. Clemence swallowed hard as she realized. She had run, when she _could_ have stayed and fought. She could have tried to protect Troy. Maybe he would still be alive.

No. No, he wouldn't. Deep down, she knew it. She'd known it the moment the knife hit him – and so had he. That was why he'd stayed, probably. Why he hadn't run. If he'd tried to run, he would only have slowed her down. So he had stayed, to make sure that the boy would only kill _him_.

That thought just made it worse. Clemence shook her head as she followed the railroad tracks farther north. Troy had just wanted to protect her. And now he was dead. Maybe she was better off alone. Maybe it was better not to have _any_ allies at this point in the Games.

Suddenly, she saw something – or, at least, she thought she did. Something near the ship off to her right. Some sort of movement. Maybe there was another tribute. Clemence gripped her knife tightly. She should just leave. She should just run, like she had before. She had run from the boy from Nine. She had run after Cosima had killed. She had run after Carlisle had killed. She'd been running the whole Games.

Eventually, she would have to stop.

Clemence took a deep breath. What was she thinking? Was she losing her mind? Maybe. Maybe this was what it felt like to go crazy. But everything seemed so _clear_ all of a sudden. So certain. She knew exactly what she had to do. If she wanted to go home, she would have to _kill_. She would have to kill, just like everyone else had killed. Carlisle had killed. Cosima and Wade had killed. The boy from Nine had killed Troy, but before that, even _Troy_ had killed. Why should she be any different?

Slowly, Clemence drew her knife, clutching it tightly in one hand and the coil of rope in the other. This was her chance. This was her time. And she wasn't going to let anything get in the way of that now.

* * *

 **Carlisle Talbot, 18  
** **District Six**

The sun was beginning to rise a little higher behind him and Freya when he saw someone in the distance. As far as he could tell, it was only one person, but he gave Freya's shoulder a shake, anyway. Better to be too careful than not careful enough. If there _was_ someone else with them, he might need the backup.

Depending on who it was, of course, he might need the backup anyway. Whoever it was, they were headed towards him and Freya seemingly without any hesitation or caution. Did that mean they were looking for a fight? Or was it possible that maybe they simply hadn't seen him? Were they headed for the ship, maybe? If so, maybe it would be better to just let them keep going.

Freya opened her eyes, sitting up silently, watching where Carlisle was pointing. She drew a knife, while Carlisle gripped his sickle. Whoever was coming, they were ready.

As the figure drew closer, however, Carlisle breathed a sigh of relief. Clemence. His district partner. He certainly hadn't been expecting her, but at least she didn't pose much of a threat. And as far as he could tell, she was alone. She certainly hadn't been working with anyone at the start of the Games.

Then again, neither had he – not after getting separated from Cosima. Nothing seemed to be going the way anyone would have expected at the start of the Games. Carlisle stood up slowly, raising a hand – the hand that wasn't holding his sickle. He gave a small wave. "Hey."

Clemence stopped short. "Carlisle?"

Carlisle nodded. "It's been a while."

It certainly had. Clemence had run off after he'd killed the boy from Eleven. He hadn't seen her since, and hadn't really been expecting to. She looked exhausted, as if she'd been running. Maybe she had. Maybe she was running away from someone. If so, she would probably be glad for the company.

Clemence hesitated. "I guess it has. Who's that with you?"

Freya stood up. "Freya. District Four. And you must be Clemence."

Clemence nodded. "How long have you two been working together?"

"A few days," Carlisle answered. "How about you?"

Clemence's expression hardened. "I … I'm not working with anyone. Not anymore."

"What happened?" Freya asked.

"A lot of things," Clemence answered vaguely. "But mostly I just … just realized that it wasn't a good idea to … well, to get attached."

Carlisle nodded. "Fair enough. If you want to walk away, I think we can let you go this—"

Just as he was about to finish, however, Freya put a hand on his arm, cutting him off and pointing off to the side. Some sort of shapes were approaching. Mutts. Clown mutts. Carlisle froze. The Gamemakers couldn't really want them to fight, could they? Not that it was likely to be much of a fight. And Clemence seemed so miserable, they might even be doing her a favor. But still…

A small smile formed on Clemence's face as she saw the mutts. "Or maybe not," she concluded, fingering her knife. "Let's get to it, then."

* * *

 **My apologies for the delay in updates; finals week was a bit hectic. Now that summer's here, though, I should be able to get back to updating regularly.**

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.**

 **20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.**

 **19th - Stanley Newton, D3. Stabbed with a katana by Thalia Gold.**

 **18th - Cherry Thatch, D11. Stabbed with a spear by Decima Clear.**

 **17th - Garth Kain, D11. Stomach and throat sliced by Carlisle Talbot.**

 **16th - Emilia Rey Fumero, D12. Stabbed in the back by Wade Larthey.**

 **15th - Decima Clear, D2. Stabbed in the back by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **14th - Isabella Thatcher, D8. Drowned in a pit trap after being speared by Cosima Byte.**

 **13th - Troy Arrowhead, D12. Speared by Shasta Evans.**

* * *

 **District Placements:**

 **12th - District 11 - Best Placement: 17th**

 **11th - District 2 - Best Placement: 15th**

 **10th - District 8 - Best Placement: 14th**

 **9th - District 12 - Best Placement: 13th**


	34. Day Five - Home Field Advantage

**Day Five  
** **Home Field Advantage**

* * *

 _Home Field Advantage: The benefit that the home team is said to gain over the visiting team_.

* * *

 **Carlisle Talbot, 18  
** **District Six**

He would have to think quickly. Carlisle glanced around frantically as Clemence charged, her knife still in her hand. Did she really mean to kill him, or was she simply trying to impress the audience? Or maybe she figured that the mutts wouldn't let them walk out of there without a fight, and that he was more likely to give her a quick, painless death than they were.

Carlisle grasped his sickle tightly. That was what the audience would be expecting – for him to just kill her quickly. Maybe that was what he should do. But now that it came down to it…

Carlisle glanced up at Freya, who seemed just as reluctant to attack as he did. "Follow my lead," he hissed, lowering his sickle as Clemence charged. She swung her knife, but instead of dodging or deflecting her blow, Carlisle grabbed her wrist, holding it fast. One blow to the head knocked her to the ground. "Stay down," he whispered.

She didn't. Immediately after he let go, she sprang to her feet. Maybe she did mean to fight, after all. Carlisle ducked beneath her next blow, and Freya grabbed her from behind. Clemence squirmed in the older girl's grasp. "Why don't you just … just kill me?"

Carlisle turned a smile to the mutts, hoping that would be enough to convince the audience that he was serious. "Oh, I think that would be a little too easy," he reasoned. "A little too quick. Don't you think so, Freya?"

Freya's face was growing pale. Maybe she didn't realize what he was doing. Maybe she did, and was trying to play it up for the audience. Either way, the mutts backed off a bit as Carlisle laid a hand on Clemence's shoulder as she squirmed. "What did you have in mind?" Freya asked.

Carlisle smirked. "That's a lovely bit of rope you've got there, Clemence. Where'd you get it?" She didn't answer. He hadn't been expecting her to. "Bring her over here, Freya," Carlisle suggested, motioning to the railroad tracks nearby. "This will be _much_ more fun."

Thankfully, Freya did as she was told, dragging Clemence over to the railroad tracks as Carlisle tugged the rope out of her grasp. There seemed to be just enough of it to make a good show. Carlisle gestured to the railroad tracks. "Hold her down, Freya."

Freya froze. "What?"

"I said, hold her down."

Clemence stopped wriggling. "What are you going to do to me?"

Carlisle grabbed her shoulders, tugging her out of Freya's grasp. "Fine. I'll do it myself." He threw her down on the tracks, pinning her before she could get up, his knee pressed into her chest as he looped the rope around her hands. She was still struggling. Still squirming. _Good_. That would look good for the cameras.

Behind him, the clown mutts were cheering and laughing, but Carlisle ignored them. There was _just_ enough rope to finish the job, Carlisle realized as he looped the end around one of the railroad ties, then back around Clemence's chest, holding her firmly to the tracks. Then he tied off the end, careful to make _just_ the right kind of knot, careful to leave it _just_ where her fingers would be able to find it. He leaned down close to her ear, the sound of the mutts laughing behind him enough to hide his voice. "Wait until the last possible moment," he whispered, then stood up. "Let's get out of here, Freya."

But Freya was already gone.

* * *

 **Freya Clearwater, 17  
** **District Four**

What was he _thinking_? Freya ran as fast as she could, putting as much distance as she could between herself and Carlisle. Had he simply lost his mind? How could he do something like that to his _district partner_?

It would have been one thing to kill her. That would have been understandable. The mutts certainly weren't going to let her simply walk away. But he could have made it quick. Instead…

Freya took a deep breath as she ran. Had she been wrong about him the whole time? What if the real reason he hadn't killed the girl from Seven was because it wouldn't have been _interesting_ enough? What if the real reason he had let her go was so that he could have more fun hunting her down later on?

She didn't want to believe it. But there didn't seem to be any other explanation for tying his district partner to some railroad tracks. Besides, what did she _really_ know about him? He had volunteered for the Games, but what if that, too, had been because of ulterior motives? What if he'd simply used Bertie's son as an excuse to do what he wanted – volunteer to kill other teenagers? Other _people_?

If so, it had certainly worked. He _had_ killed a boy; he'd admitted that much. And now he had the chance to kill again. What if he hadn't even been injured by the carousel that had fallen? What if it had all been a ruse? That would certainly explain why the sponsors hadn't sent any sort of medicine, but had sent an explosive, instead. Had he been playing her this whole time?

Freya tried to shake the thought from her head. She didn't _want_ it to be true. But not _wanting_ it to be true didn't automatically make it false. And there didn't seem to be any other reason for it…

Freya clenched her fists. That wasn't her problem. Not anymore. She'd decided to run, and she couldn't simply turn around and go back now. There hadn't been a cannon yet, which meant Clemence was still alive. But it was only a matter of time before Carlisle got what he wanted. If she went back now, what was to stop him from tying her up right alongside his district partner?

No. No, she couldn't go back. She could only keep moving forward now – towards some sort of tent in the distance. Freya slowed down a little. If he _did_ decide to come after her, this might be as good a place as any to hide. Maybe it was worth taking a closer look.

As soon as she stepped inside the tent, however, she could tell something was … off. Something was strange. Most of the contents of the tent had been moved aside, revealing a hole in the floor. A tunnel. She could hear something down below, coming closer…

* * *

 **Confidence Best, 16  
** **District One**

Really? Had the tunnel really led exactly back to where he had come from, anyway? Confidence glanced back at the clown mutts – still a ways behind him – as he climbed out of the tunnel into the _exact_ same tent that he had entered the day before. Great. Just great.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something swinging towards his head. A bat of some sort that had been one of the things he'd scattered on the floor while uncovering the entrance to the tunnel. Confidence dodged, laughing when he saw who it was. "You?"

Freya took a step back. Maybe she hadn't been expecting _him_ to come crawling out of the tunnels. But she stood her ground, clutching the bat. "Me."

"Well, this is going to be fun," Confidence chuckled. "All alone, I see?"

Freya smirked. "What makes you think I'm alone?"

"Well, I guess we'll find out soon enough." Confidence swung his mace, glancing around the tent for any sign of an ally or two. She'd had one, he was pretty sure. But for the life of him, he couldn't remember who…

Not that it was important right now. There didn't seem to be anyone nearby at all. Confidence swung again, and Freya dodged, backing up towards the flap of the tent. She glanced behind her nervously, trying to keep her footing. That gave him the chance he needed, diving for her legs.

She hadn't been expecting that. His mace connected with her kneecap with a loud _crack_ , and she went tumbling to the ground. Too easy. It was all too easy. Confidence strode closer, his mace raised high. Freya raised her bat in a feeble effort to defend herself, but his mace came cracking down, aiming for her hand, and she dropped the bat, screaming in pain. _Finally_. After four days of waiting, he finally had his chance. And this time, he _wasn't_ going to waste it.

So when his mace came down the next time, it swept the bat out of Freya's hand. He glanced around one more time to be certain that no one else was coming. Of course, they weren't. If there _had_ been anyone there, they were long gone by now. If they were going to step in, they would have done it _before_ their ally was so completely incapacitated.

Confidence grinned as he brought the mace down once more. Freya raised her arms, trying to shield her head, but that only meant that the mace hit _them_ , instead, shattering bone with a terrible – yet _wonderful_ – crunching noise. Again. And again. After a third blow, he simply nudged her arms out of the way, bringing the mace down one more time, crashing into her skull.

Blood spattered everywhere as the cannon sounded. He'd done it! Confidence took a step back, tapping his mace on the ground to shake a little of the blood off. Freya's face was barely recognizable. It was terrible, and yet … it was oddly satisfying. _He_ had done that. After days of wondering if he was ever going to get a chance, he had _really_ done it.

Now he would just have to do it again. And again. Confidence grinned as he strode out of the tent. He could. He would. He would single-handedly beat down every other tribute in the arena, if that was what it took. And he would enjoy every moment of it. The smile stayed plastered on his face as he headed out into the sunlight. The Games were barely more than halfway over, but, somehow, it felt like they had just begun.

* * *

 **Clemence Aldrin, 14  
** **District Six**

"Wait until the last possible moment." That was what Carlisle had said. Clemence wriggled, trying to make a show of struggling to get free. Whatever Carlisle had been planning, she just hoped it would work. He'd left her a slip knot, easy enough to undo when she got the chance. But if she pulled it now, the clowns would be on her in a heartbeat. No, Carlisle was right. She would have to wait until the last possible moment.

Then she heard it – the train in the distance, rumbling down the tracks. Of course. Of course that was what Carlisle had meant. If she escaped _just_ before the train would have hit her, the audience would love it. The tension, the suspense, the relief when she escaped at _just_ the right moment.

If she did.

Clemence closed her eyes, waiting as the train rumbled closer and closer. It would be so easy not to. All she had to do was stay put, and it would all be over. No one else would die in front of her. She wouldn't see any more of their faces. There was no _way_ she was going to win this thing, so maybe it was better this way. Better just to stay put. Maybe it was better not to fight it.

The train whistle blew as it chugged down the tracks. The ground was beginning to shake. Clemence's fingers found the knot. All she had to do was pull, and she would be free. She could roll out of the way – and onto the other side of the track from the clown mutts. Then she could run. She would have a good head start. She could probably get away.

But then what?

What was she supposed to do after that? She had no allies left. Troy was dead. She had left Cosima and Wade. Where was she supposed to go? She didn't even have any supplies – not really. She'd dropped the knife during her fight with Carlisle. The rope had been the only other thing she had, except one caramel apple that was left in her pocket. If that was all she had to start over with, how long was she really going to last?

Clemence opened her eyes. The train was getting closer now. She wriggled a little more, seeming to work her way free. The audience was probably rooting for her. Well, either that or waiting for the train to smash her into a pulp. One or the other. But her family … her family was rooting for her. They were probably waiting anxiously, watching the screen, hoping for a miracle.

She could give them that.

Not forever. She couldn't promise them that she would survive the Games. But she could give them this one moment, this one little victory. Clemence swallowed hard, giving the slip knot a tug. Sure enough, the rope fell loose around her. Carlisle had meant for it to do that. He wanted her to live. Her _family_ wanted her to live.

For now, that would have to be good enough.

As the train neared her, Clemence shook off the ropes. The clown mutts, realizing what was happening, lumbered towards the tracks. But the train was too close. At the last second – the last _possible_ second – Clemence rolled off to the side, clear of the tracks. Most of the clowns were caught on the other side, but one wasn't so lucky. The train smashed into it, sending clown parts flying in all directions.

Clemence gulped. That could have been her. It could have been all over. But she was still alive. She _wanted_ to live. And maybe she wouldn't get that wish for long. But for now, she was still alive. And she wasn't going to let that go to waste.

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

The cannon woke Wade from where he was still sleeping in one of the trees. He glanced up at Cosima, still sleeping soundly above him. He still had a bit of a headache, but maybe that was normal. Maybe he just needed some water.

Water. Yes, that was what he needed. Water, and maybe a little food. Wade untied himself from the tree and slowly climbed back down to the ground, where they had stashed their backpacks in one of the nearby bushes.

 _Their_ backpacks. Technically, Cosima and Clemence had been the ones who had taken the bags from the cornucopia. They'd been more than happy to share their supplies, but how long was that really going to last? With that last cannon, there were only eleven tributes left. The Games were more than halfway over. How long could he really expect Cosima to allow him to stay? How long before she decided that he wasn't worth the trouble of keeping around?

Maybe it was better to stay one step ahead of her. As quietly as he could, Wade shouldered one of the backpacks and took off. He was tempted to take them both, but that would give her a reason to come after him. As it was, she would probably let him go. She had more than enough supplies left in the backpack. Failing that, there were plenty of caramel apples in the trees, a whole cornfield nearby, and plenty of water in the ponds. It wasn't as if tributes were dying left and right from hunger and thirst.

Or, at least, he assumed that the others weren't, either. That most of the tributes were in pretty good shape as far as supplies went. Even if they hadn't had the chance to return to the cornucopia as Clemence and Cosima had, there were plenty of places in the arena to find food and water. No, whoever was left was probably in pretty good shape, too.

Wade glanced back at Cosima, still sleeping soundly in her tree. Did that mean that it was a mistake to leave? Anyone he came across at this point would probably also be well-fed and well-armed. That was the reason he'd wanted allies in the first place – to deter anyone from attacking him.

But how long would it be before his allies became more dangerous than any of the other tributes? Cosima certainly hadn't seemed hesitant to kill the girl from Eight. Why would she think twice if it came to killing him?

She wouldn't. And maybe _he_ wouldn't, either, if their positions were reversed. As it was, there was no way he would be able to climb high enough in the tree, quietly enough, with a weapon, to kill her before she realized what he was doing. No, the best move was probably to just leave her. It had been good to have allies for a short while, but maybe now it was time to go it alone.

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

The sun was already rising higher in the sky when Cosima finally woke. Her head was feeling a bit better now that she'd had a chance to sleep off some of the alcohol. Maybe they shouldn't have drunk it all at once. But now they would know better. "Feeling better, Wade?" she called down to her ally.

Except he was gone. Cosima glanced around, looking for any sign of him. Maybe he'd simply snuck off to relieve himself or something. But he didn't seem to be anywhere nearby, and one of the backpacks was gone.

Cosima quickly untied herself from the tree and climbed down. Of _course_ the ungrateful little squirt had taken one of the backpacks – backpacks that she and Clemence had had the guts to go back to the cornucopia to get. There was still plenty left, of course – and plenty of food in the trees – but that didn't make it any better. He'd simply snuck off with half of her supplies; the audience wouldn't like it if she simply let that slide.

But how was she supposed to follow him if she had no idea where he'd gone? Cosima glanced one way, then another. Back towards the train station. Off towards one of the corn fields, then the other.

Then she saw something rustling – something _moving_ in the corn field to the north. Cosima grinned, shouldering the other backpack and fingering one of her knives. If that _was_ Wade, he was going to regret staying so close by. And if it wasn't … well, then _they_ would regret being so close by in the first place.

Cosima took off running towards the field, trying to stay quiet but also trying to catch up. Apparently, though, she wasn't being quiet enough, because the motion in the corn field stopped for a moment before resuming, the corn stalks bending this way and that in the other direction, _away_ from her.

"Run while you can, Wade!" Cosima called out – not because she thought he would be able to hear her, but because the audience would enjoy it.

To her surprise, a voice answered. "Who the hell is Wade?"

So it wasn't Wade, after all. From the sound of it, she was chasing a girl. But that would have to do, since she had no way of knowing where Wade had gone. Cosima plowed into the corn field, using her knife to chop through a few of the stalks in her way. "Where'd you go?" she called, not really expecting an answer.

This time, she didn't get one – unless a few more rustling stalks counted as an answer. They seemed farther away this time. She probably wasn't going to catch up to whoever she was chasing. But it wasn't as if she had a better plan at the moment. Besides, the audience – and the _Gamemakers_ – would be expecting her to continue. So she trudged onwards, slicing through corn stalks until she finally found a path.

Unfortunately, no one else seemed to be _on_ the path. Great. Cosima plucked an ear of corn from a stalk as she slowed to a walk. If she wasn't going to be able to catch anyone, she might as well eat breakfast. She might as well keep up her strength. It was only a matter of time before she was really going to need it.

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

At least the other girl didn't seem particularly interested in chasing her – at least not now that she knew she wasn't Wade. Whoever Wade was. Alexia slowed down a little as she came to a clearing in the center of the corn field. Or, at least, it certainly seemed like the center, from what she could tell. There was no way of knowing for sure.

But at least now that the sun had risen, she had some idea of how to get out. Or at least which general direction to go. She'd headed west into the cornfield the night before, so it would stand to reason that heading east would get her out in roughly the same direction. She would just have to keep heading in that direction, right?

Right. It probably wouldn't be quite that easy, but at least now she had a goal. And she certainly wasn't going to run out of food for a while. There had been a pond fairly close to the cornfield, so once she made it out, she would probably be set for a while.

For a while. But not forever. Because there had already been a cannon today. There were only eleven tributes left – less than half of what they'd started with. It was only a matter of time before the Games started to draw to a close.

And she was still alive. That was a comforting thought, at least. She'd made it through four full days of the Games. She'd outlived thirteen tributes so far. Alexia picked another ear of corn and stuffed it in her backpack. She'd already eaten quite a few, but now she would have plenty for later if she had to leave the cornfield.

No, _when_ she had to leave the cornfield. She couldn't just stay here forever. And she didn't really want to try. As good a hiding place as it was, it also meant that pretty much any _other_ tribute could be hiding there, as well, ready to sneak up behind her. Alexia glanced around nervously. That thought certainly wasn't helping. Maybe it would be best to get moving.

She stretched her legs a little before setting off again, her shoulder still aching but her arm still tucked safely in its sling. As long as she didn't have to do much fighting, she would be fine for a while. As long as she could avoid the other tributes for a few more days…

Right. A few more days. Thirteen tributes had already died in the _first_ five days of the Games. What were the odds that she would really be able to avoid the ten other tributes who were left long enough for her arm to heal? But what other choice did she have? She had to try, because intentionally looking for them and confronting them was even worse.

Wasn't it?

Maybe if she could catch someone off-guard. Someone who was sleeping or looking the other way. Maybe then she would have a chance – and that would be more interesting for the audience than simply trying to avoid the other tributes. Maybe that was what she should do. Maybe.

Maybe. But in order to do that, she had to get out of this damn corn field first. That was her first priority; everything else could wait a little while. First, she had to figure out where she was. Then she could worry about what she was going to do next.

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

Thalia shook her head as she wandered back towards the cornucopia. The sun was getting higher in the sky, and there was still no sign of anyone. She would have to try searching farther from the cornucopia.

That made sense, of course. It was the fifth day of the Games. How many tributes would still be camped out anywhere close to the cornucopia? But she didn't like the thought of leaving it completely unguarded for long. Once they figured out she was gone, anyone could just walk in and take anything.

But what other choice did she have? It wasn't as if she had any other allies left who could stay and keep watch. Decima and Deimos were dead. Merric had left, and Freya had never been part of the pack. And Confidence … There was no telling where Confidence had gone. And even if he was still with her, what were the chances that he would stay put at the cornucopia while she went off to hunt? He would want to come with her, and rightly so. Two wasn't much of a Career pack, but it would certainly be better than one.

 _Stop it._ Whether she liked it or not, one was what she had. There was no one else left, and she would just have to deal with that. Hell, Confidence might even be dead. There had been two cannons since the last time the tributes' faces had shown in the sky. Maybe one of them had been his.

Maybe that would be better – better than constantly wondering whether she was going to run into him again. If he was dead, there was a sort of finality to it. She would be her district's best chance, period. She would be the one that the sponsors would support, the one her mentor would try to help. Not that she'd had much need of sponsor gifts, but it was only a matter of time before she found herself in need of something.

Besides, it wasn't as if she and Confidence had ever been particularly close. He'd been competent at best, irritating at worst. She was probably better off on her own, not having to worry about when he might decide to turn on her.

Thalia stuffed a few more supplies into her backpack. Food. Water. Enough to last her for a few days, at least, if she wanted. Not that she intended to stay away from the cornucopia that long, but things didn't always go as intended. Besides, if something happened at the cornucopia while she was gone, she wanted to have enough to get by for a while.

Not that anything was likely to happen – nothing big, at least. Even if a tribute or two figured out that she was gone, and that it was safe to come back and collect supplies, they would only be able to take so much. Whatever they could carry off wouldn't make much of a dent in the amount of supplies at the cornucopia.

Besides, it wasn't as if many of the tributes were likely to be short on supplies. The amount of food and water available in the arena seemed rather … high compared to other years. Maybe that accounted for the smaller bloodbath, and why tributes hadn't come back to the cornucopia for supplies. Maybe they figured they would rather take their chances against the elements than against their fellow tributes.

And maybe she would do the same thing, in their place. But she was a Career. She didn't have the luxury of just waiting things out and seeing what would happen. She had to do _something_ to move the Games along, _something_ to convince the audience that there was still a Career in the arena who was worth supporting. And she had to do it _soon._

Thalia shouldered her backpack and set out, heading south. That was where she had seen the tributes around the campfire a few nights ago. Maybe some of them had stayed in the same area. If not, it was as good a place as any to start looking. Maybe she would get lucky.

* * *

 **Merric Belgrave, 18  
** **District Four**

Merric held his breath as Thalia passed by the corn field. She was still a safe distance away, and she didn't seem particularly interested in them, but they couldn't risk doing anything stupid. There were three of them, yes, but she was still a Career. Even if they managed to kill her, what were the chances that all three of them would make it out of the fight unharmed?

But the fact that she was heading away from the cornucopia – that was a good sign. It meant that she was probably alone. He'd suspected that for a while, of course. Deimos and Decima were dead, which only left Confidence and Thalia as part of the pack. If Confidence wasn't with her now, maybe that meant one of the cannons had been his. Or maybe they had simply split up. It seemed a bit early for the only two remaining members of the Career pack to decide to part ways, but the two of them hadn't exactly been the best of friends.

Whichever was the case, it probably meant that the cornucopia had been left unguarded. Even if Thalia had left Confidence there, it didn't seem likely that he would stay there for long. Merric glanced down at Dexter. "Still mean what you said last night – about wanting to act more like Careers?"

Dexter froze. "What? You want to go after her?"

Merric chuckled a little. "No, no, no. I have a better idea. If she's gone, I think we should head back to the cornucopia."

Izzy raised an eyebrow. "What for? We already have plenty of supplies."

Merric shook his head. "Oh, I didn't mean we should head back there for supplies. I meant we should head back there and _stay_ there. I think we should take over the cornucopia. That way, if she _does_ come back – or if Confidence does – then _we'll_ have the advantage. We're going to have to deal with them eventually. If we set up camp at the cornucopia, we can fight them on _our_ terms. What do you think?"

Izzy couldn't help a smile. "I like it. There are three of us. We'll outnumber pretty much anyone who might show up. Maybe that'll scare them away, and if not … we kill them."

Dexter swallowed hard, and Merric waited patiently for an answer. It was harder to live up to his brave words from the night before now that they actually had a _plan_. It was one thing to _say_ that they should start acting like Careers; it was quite another to actually _do_ it. But heading for the cornucopia had seemed like a better place to start than trying to take on Thalia right away.

Finally, Dexter nodded. "Let's do it."

* * *

 **Dexter Guernsey, 13  
** **District Ten**

The sun was already sinking a little lower by the time they finally reached the cornucopia. Dexter took a deep breath, collecting his wits. The last time he had come back here, he had almost died. The girl from Two had almost killed him – _would_ have killed him, if Izzy hadn't come along. And now he was back. Back at the place he had almost died – _twice_. The girl from One could have killed him here at the start of the Games, but she hadn't. She'd let him go. He'd gotten lucky here twice, but could he really count on that happening again?

"I must be going nuts," Dexter mumbled – too quietly, he had thought, for anyone else to hear, but Merric chuckled a little.

"Why would you say that?"

Dexter shook his head. "I almost died here twice. And now I'm back. I keep coming back for more, and I keep getting lucky, but how long is that really going to last? How long before this place gets me for good?"

Merric shrugged. "Maybe it doesn't want to."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe this place is good luck for you. Like you said, you almost died here twice. _Should_ have died here. But you didn't. Maybe this is exactly the place you _should_ come back to, if you want it to keep happening." He gestured around the area. "Look. Nobody's home."

Sure enough, the cornucopia certainly _looked_ deserted. The three of them checked every nook and cranny they could find, both inside the cornucopia and around the supplies outside. There was nothing. Nobody. Izzy grinned. "This is too easy!"

Dexter shook his head. She was right. It _was_ too easy. Would the Gamemakers really let them just stay here? Sure, that was what the Careers usually did, but—

But _nothing_. Maybe there was no 'but.' What made them any different than the Career pack in any other Games? Sure, he and Izzy were a bit young, but Merric was a Career, after all. And the fact that there were three of them almost certainly made them the largest group left in the arena. Maybe this was exactly what the Gamemakers wanted them to do. Maybe this was what the _audience_ wanted them to do.

After all, if their mentors had wanted them to do something different, they could certainly have sent them some sort of signal by now. Between the three of them, they'd already gotten quite a few sponsor gifts. Maybe the audience really _was_ on their side.

That felt a bit odd, to say the least. From the moment he'd been reaped, he'd assumed that the audience would consider him an underdog. He'd never dreamed he'd be part of a group that the audience would actually be cheering for, a group they would actually support. But here he was. There were eleven tributes left, and he still had two allies. They were here, at the cornucopia, well-supplied, well-fed, and well-armed. Things were going about as well as they could be expected to in the Games.

So why did he still feel so uneasy?

Dexter shook the thought from his head. More likely than not, he was _never_ going to feel comfortable in the Games. In fact, he should probably be more worried if he _did_ feel comfortable, if he _did_ feel safe. Right now, he would have to settle for what he had: Even if he didn't _feel_ safe, he had his allies, his supplies, his weapons. That would have to be enough.

* * *

 **Shasta Evans, 17  
** **District Nine**

It was nearly dark when he saw the boy coming towards him. Shasta quickly ducked behind some bushes near the lake. Since killing the boy from Twelve, he'd been heading away from the Ferris wheel as quickly as he could. All he really wanted was a safe place to settle down for the night, maybe somewhere safe enough for him to use one of his pills to soothe the aching in his back. But he couldn't shake the thought that, now that he'd killed, the audience would expect him to do it _again_.

And he didn't _want_ to do it again.

Shasta gripped his spear tightly as he hid behind the bushes, waiting for the boy to come closer. Try as he might, he couldn't get the boy's face out of his head. "What did I do to you?" the boy had asked right before he'd died. And there was no good answer to that. He hadn't done _anything_.

 _Tell me you wouldn't do the same thing._ That was what he'd said. But _would_ the other boy have killed him, if their positions had been reversed? He had no way of knowing. He would probably never know the answer. And that was part of what was bothering him. If the other boy _had_ been trying to kill him, and he had struck back in self-defense, that would have been one thing. But that wasn't what had happened. He had killed, and he had killed someone who might not have meant him any harm, just because that was what the Capitol wanted.

No. No, that wasn't _why_ he had done it. He had done it because that was the only way he was going to make it out of the arena alive. The other tributes _had_ to die. And that meant he _had_ to kill. But that didn't change the fact that, in doing so, he was behaving _exactly_ the way the Capitol wanted him to. The Capitol, the Gamemakers, the audience – they all wanted to turn him into a killer. And that was exactly what he had become.

Shasta held his breath as the boy settled down by the lake. He was finally close enough to tell who it was – the boy from Five. The one who had thrown him a bag of supplies at the start of the Games. They had split up their supplies then, and the younger boy had called out that he hoped he wouldn't see him again.

Wade. That was the boy's name. Wade. That made it worse – knowing his name. There was no reason it should, really. They weren't friends. They had barely spoken long enough to ask each other's names. They certainly weren't allies – not after five days where they hadn't even seen each other. It didn't make any sense for simply knowing the boy's _name_ to be enough to make him hesitate.

But it was.

Slowly, Shasta stepped out from behind the bushes. Wade leapt to his feet immediately. "What do you want?"

Shasta set down his spear. "Easy. Easy. I'm just here for some water – same as you." He took an empty water bottle from his pocket and knelt down by the lake. "We can both walk away from this."

Wade took a step back. "That's a little hard to believe with the blood on your hands."

Shasta froze. How did Wade know he had killed? "What do you know about—?"

Wade pointed. "No, I mean literally – You've actually got blood on your hands."

Shasta chuckled a little as he looked down at his hands, still spattered with blood from the boy from Twelve. "So I do. Boy from Twelve, early this morning. You?"

"Other one from Twelve, the first night of the Games," Wade replied.

Shasta nodded, filling his water bottle. "Not a good Games for Twelve."

"I guess not," Wade agreed. "Still going it alone?"

"Seems to have worked out pretty well," Shasta nodded. "You?"

"Had some allies for a while," Wade answered vaguely. "Didn't work out."

"Sorry to hear that."

Wade shook his head. "No you're not."

No. No, he wasn't. Because, in the end, in order for him to make it out, Wade would have to die. So the worse he was doing, the better. "No, I'm not," Shasta admitted. He took a step closer to Wade, tucking his water bottle back into his pocket and reaching down to pick up his spear. Wade took a step back – away from the backpack that was lying on the ground near the lake. Shasta took another step forward, a silent understanding growing between them.

The Gamemakers weren't just going to let them both walk away – not without _something_ happening. But that something didn't happen to be one of them dying. Wade was offering him a solution – take his supplies and get out of there. At least, Shasta was pretty sure that was what the boy intended. He couldn't be certain. Not without asking, at least, and he certainly didn't want to do that.

He could always kill him. That was the other option. He had a spear. All Wade seemed to have was the knife he'd found in his pack at the start of the Games. He could probably kill him without much trouble, but…

Shasta took a deep breath, gripping his spear tightly. He didn't want to. And, if he played his cards right, he wouldn't _have_ to. His gaze met Wade's for a moment. Only for a moment. Then, suddenly, he glanced off to his left. "What's that?" he shouted, pointing.

Sure enough, Wade turned to look. There was no way he hadn't seen that coming. It was the oldest trick in the book. But Shasta grabbed the younger boy's backpack and took off running in the opposite direction. "Hey!" Wade shouted, but made no move to chase him down. He wasn't going to catch him. Shasta ran as fast as he could until he could no longer hear Wade shouting. He hoped the boy realized that he'd just spared his life.

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

They hadn't wasted any time making the area around the cornucopia a bit more defensible. She, Merric, and Dexter had stuffed all of the supplies inside the cornucopia, except for what they'd used to construct a covering for the entrance. As long as the three of them slept inside the cornucopia at night, they would only have one entrance to guard. One entrance the other tributes would have to use if they wanted food, supplies, or simply to attack the three of them. Hopefully, most of them would realize it wasn't worth the trouble.

Izzy took a step back, admiring their work. It looked almost like a miniature shack – almost like a house, really. Like a _home_. It was strange, really, how something so far from home – something in the Games, of all places – could seem almost welcoming.

In the end, of course, it wasn't about what it looked like. It wasn't about the tarp they'd draped over the mouth of the cornucopia to keep out the rain, or about the blankets they'd strewn on the inside to make it a bit more comfortable. It was about the people who had helped her, who were going to protect each other until…

Until what? Until the bitter end? Until they couldn't anymore? Until they were the only ones left? What would happen then, if it came down to that? Merric had been willing to help protect them so far, but if it came down to a fight between the three of them, it wasn't hard to imagine who would win that fight.

Izzy snuggled a little closer to the other two as they settled down at the mouth of the cornucopia, watching as the sun sank lower in the sky and waiting for the Capitol anthem to play. She would just have to hope it wouldn't come to that. But that meant hoping that her friends would die. That didn't really sound any better.

Suddenly, the sound of the Capitol anthem shook her from her thoughts. Izzy turned her attention to the sky. The girl from Four's face was the first to appear. Then the boy from Twelve. Izzy glanced over at Merric as the boy's face faded. "I'm sorry about Freya."

Merric shook her head. "She shouldn't have been here. She never belonged in the Games. She only volunteered to save her mother. She didn't deserve this." He shook his head, ruffling Dexter's hair a little. "None of you deserve this."

Izzy hesitated, not really sure how to respond to that. It was what all of them had been thinking since the reaping, of course – that they didn't deserve this. But to hear the same thing coming from a Career was … strange. Because if they didn't deserve this, what Merric was implying – even if he didn't say it outright – was that what the Capitol was doing was wrong. That the _Games_ were wrong. Common sentiments in the outer districts, of course, but even they knew better than to say so out loud.

"Maybe not," Dexter agreed. "But we're here. All of us. So we might as well try to make the best of it."

That seemed to do the trick. Merric nodded. "I'll take the first watch," he offered, and no one else objected. Izzy stretched her arms as she and Dexter settled into the cornucopia. She just hoped it would be an uneventful night.

* * *

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.**

 **20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.**

 **19th - Stanley Newton, D3. Stabbed with a katana by Thalia Gold.**

 **18th - Cherry Thatch, D11. Stabbed with a spear by Decima Clear.**

 **17th - Garth Kain, D11. Stomach and throat sliced by Carlisle Talbot.**

 **16th - Emilia Rey Fumero, D12. Stabbed in the back by Wade Larthey.**

 **15th - Decima Clear, D2. Stabbed in the back by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **14th - Isabella Thatcher, D8. Drowned in a pit trap after being speared by Cosima Byte.**

 **13th - Troy Arrowhead, D12. Speared by Shasta Evans.**

 **12th - Freya Clearwater, D4. Head bashed in by Confidence Best.**

* * *

 **District Placements:**

 **12th - District 11 - Best Placement: 17th**

 **11th - District 2 - Best Placement: 15th**

 **10th - District 8 - Best Placement: 14th**

 **9th - District 12 - Best Placement: 13th**


	35. Night Five - Up the Ante

**Night Five  
** **Up the Ante**

* * *

 _Up the Ante: To raise the opening stakes in a betting game._

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

Great. Just great. Wade leaned back against one of the larger rocks near the pond as the Capitol anthem finished playing. Two more tributes dead. He already knew about the boy from Twelve, of course, courtesy of Shasta. And the girl from Four wasn't really much of a surprise, now that he thought about it. More of a surprise that someone from Four who had decided not to join the pack had made it farther than two tributes who _had_.

Of course, _he_ was probably on most people's list of tributes whose survival was a bit of a surprise, especially since Shasta could easily have killed him earlier. Sure, he had a knife, but Shasta was older, stronger, and had a spear. By the time he got close enough for Wade to actually _use_ his knife, the spear would probably have gone right through him.

But Shasta hadn't attacked him – only stolen his supplies. Why, Wade wasn't entirely sure. Maybe it was lingering gratitude for the help Wade had given him during the bloodbath. Maybe it was just pity. Maybe it was regret over having killed earlier that day. Whatever the reason, he couldn't count on getting that lucky again. He'd told Shasta at the start of the Games that he hoped he wouldn't see him again, and that was even more true now.

But he would have to do something soon, one way or another. All of his supplies had been in the bag Shasta had taken, aside from the knife that was still in his hand. Wade gave one of the nearby pebbles a kick. He knew where some caramel apple trees were, of course, and there was water in the pond, so he wasn't going to starve anytime soon. But the Capitol wouldn't look kindly on a tribute who simply let another walk off with his supplies and didn't do anything about it.

But what was he supposed to do? Shasta had a spear and a good head start. He certainly wasn't going to catch up with him. And it would be stupid to try. As soon as Shasta realized he couldn't get rid of him, whatever good will or gratitude or pity that had kept him alive before would be gone. It wouldn't be much of a fight.

No, he had to do something _else_. Something the audience would like. Maybe…

Wade picked up a pebble and tossed it into the pond. There was one place he could be certain of finding supplies – back at the cornucopia. Would there even be anyone there now? Maybe not. Only two of the Careers were left – the pair from District One. And the last he'd seen of them, they hadn't been anywhere near the cornucopia.

That had been days ago, of course. Three nights ago when he had unknowingly huddled up with the girl from One. It seemed like a lifetime. They could be _anywhere_ by now. And he was right back at the pond where he'd been before. He was going in circles. He had to do something – quickly.

Wade took a deep breath. _Okay. Okay._ He could do this. After all, if there was someone at the cornucopia, he could always turn around and come right back. He'd gotten pretty lucky so far. Maybe he would be able to continue his streak.

Maybe. If he _was_ going to do something, now seemed like a pretty good time. Even if there _was_ someone there, they might be asleep. Wade held back a yawn. He was getting pretty tired himself. But if he fell asleep now, it would probably be morning before he woke up, and then he would lose his chance. And this … this might be the only chance he got.

* * *

 **Dexter Guernsey, 13  
** **District Ten**

"Any chance there are more of those marshmallows?" Merric asked as Dexter rummaged through the food at the back of the cornucopia. Thanks to the matches they'd found, they'd finally managed to get a decent fire going, and were taking advantage of it by roasting everything they could.

Dexter shook his head. "I think that was the last of them."

"Bummer," Merric sighed, tossing one of the husks of corn into the fire. "Still, they were good while they lasted."

Izzy nodded her agreement. "I admit it – I was wrong about starting the fire."

Merric chuckled a little. Izzy had insisted that starting a fire would attract more tributes to the cornucopia. But anyone who was near enough to see it would probably be near enough to tell that there were three of them. With the Careers down to two, at best, there weren't many large groups left in the arena. Certainly none that would want to take on the three of them in a fight.

Merric ruffled Izzy's hair. "Hey, no harm done. Like I said, though, if we're going to act like Careers, we need to _act_ like it. And that means that if we're going to be here at the cornucopia, we don't get to be shy about letting other people know it."

Izzy nodded. "Fair enough. Do you think anyone knows we're here?"

"Only if they're close enough to see the fire," Dexter reasoned. "But at least they're staying away." He handed another piece of meat to Merric, who stuck it on the end of one of the spears.

Suddenly, something leapt out of the fire – something small and white and almost … fluffy. Dexter nearly burst out laughing when he realized. Merric and Izzy didn't seem to have seen it, so maybe…

Quietly, Dexter reached for one of the full ears of corn. The one Merric had thrown in the fire must have still had a few kernels of corn attached to it. Or maybe he hadn't known what would happen to corn in a fire. Did they even have corn in District Four? Maybe not. All he had to do was wait for a chance to stick it in the fire without them noticing. When it started popping, their reactions would be _hilarious_.

Dexter peered out into the darkness off to the left, pretending. "Do you see that?"

Izzy turned immediately. "What?"

"I thought I saw something moving – out in that direction."

Merric stood up and took a few steps away from the cornucopia. While the two of them were distracted, Dexter slid the ear of corn into the fire. "Maybe it was just my imagination," Dexter admitted. "I guess I'm still a little jumpy." _Not as jumpy as you're about to be._

"That's understandable," Merric assured him.

Izzy shook her head. "No, wait, there _is_ something. See that?" She pointed, and, for a moment, Dexter _did_ see something – a flurry of movement a ways away. Another tribute, maybe? A mutt? Whatever it was, it seemed to be waiting. Watching them. Maybe trying to figure out if they'd seen it.

Merric drew one of his knives and took the hunk of meat off the spear he'd been using to roast it. The figure in the darkness moved back a little. Probably not a mutt, then. "Who's there?" Dexter called.

Silence for a moment. "Dexter?"

"Wade?" Dexter took a step towards the shape in the distance. It _could_ be Wade. There hadn't been any cannons since the faces had appeared in the sky, which meant his former ally was still alive.

Before he could get any closer, however, something started popping behind him. _Shit_. The popcorn. Wade, startled, took off before Dexter could say anything else. Merric turned around, frantic, stabbing at the kernels of white, fluffy popcorn as they emerged from the fire. Meanwhile, Izzy bolted into the distance. "Wait!" Dexter called. "Izzy, come back! It's okay! It's just…"

Merric whirled around. "Wait. _You_ did this?"

Dexter's face grew red. "I thought it would be funny. It's called popcorn. You don't have that in District Four?"

Merric shook his head. "Apparently not District Seven, either. Izzy! Izzy, it's okay! You can come back now!"

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

"Izzy! Izzy, come back!" She could still hear the voices in the distance. Merric and Dexter calling to her to come back. But why? Because it was safe to come back now, or because…?

Because what? What was the alternative? Whatever had burst out of the fire – had one of them meant for that to happen? Had they meant for it to kill her? Why? Why would they do that? They were her allies. Her friends.

They were supposed to be her friends.

Izzy slowed down as she neared the railroad tracks, gasping for breath. _Okay. Calm down._ She could always turn around and go back. They would be waiting for her. They wanted her to come back.

But was that a good thing or a bad thing?

Suddenly, she could hear rustling in the distance – in the direction of the corn field off beyond the train tracks. Izzy froze. What if she'd run right into a trap?

 _Think. Just think._ But she couldn't think. As she watched, a girl burst out of the corn field, followed by several mutts. Clowns. Izzy took a step backwards. She had to do something. She couldn't count on the clowns not noticing her – not since the Gamemakers obviously knew where she was. She couldn't hide. She would have to do _something_.

 _We don't get to be shy._ That was what Merric had said. He'd been talking about staying at the cornucopia, but maybe it applied here, too. Shy was something she'd never been. Whatever she was going to do, she would have to do it quickly, and she wouldn't be able to back down. She'd run away from the cornucopia with nothing except a knife in her pocket. That wouldn't be enough to fight off the mutts, but maybe…

Maybe she could join them.

As the girl ran closer, the mutts followed, laughing maniacally. As loudly as she could, Izzy joined in, laughing right along with them. One of the mutts turned, but Izzy sprinted towards them, waving her knife high, joining in the chase. The girl didn't even seem to notice. Not that Izzy could really blame her for that. It was dark. She was probably terrified. Why would she care whether she was being chased by a group of clown mutts or a group of mutts plus one tribute?

"Get her!" Izzy shouted as she and the other mutts closed in. She wasn't close enough yet to tell who the tribute was – and there were a few mutts in the way.

"Get her!" one of the mutts repeated in a robotic voice. Izzy nearly jumped. Was that what they'd been planning to do, anyway, or were they taking orders from her? There was only one way to find out.

"Trip her!" Izzy shouted as they got closer. One of the clowns waved a lasso of some sort, which quickly wrapped around the other tribute's heels. She tumbled to the ground, screaming. "Don't let her get away!" Izzy called, and the clowns grabbed the girl's arms and legs and held her fast, then turned to Izzy, as if waiting for directions.

"Izzy?" The tribute's voice startled her as she took a step closer. Alexia. The girl she'd met around a campfire two nights ago, when she'd been separated from Merric and Dexter. Izzy's stomach churned. What was she doing?

Whatever she was doing, it was too late to stop now. In the absence of orders to follow, the clowns had made up their own minds. They were dragging Alexia towards the railroad tracks. What were they planning to do? Izzy followed, confused. Terrified.

Suddenly, one of the clowns grabbed _her_ arm. "Tie them both," it droned in its robotic voice.

"No!" Izzy shouted immediately. "No, wait! I … I'll help you. Let's tie _her_ up." She could hardly believe the words were coming out of her mouth, but if the choice was between one of them dying and _both_ of them dying…

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

"Stop it!" Alexia thrashed as hard as she could as the clowns held her down, pinning her to the railroad tracks. "Stop it! Let me go! I'll … I'll help you get _her_ , instead!"

"Make her stop screaming!" the little girl, Izzy, cried. One of the clowns stuffed tore a bit of fabric from its shirt and stuffed it in Alexia's mouth. That seemed to give the other clowns an idea. They started tearing thin strips of fabric from each other's shirts and handing them to Izzy. "Hold her down!" Izzy ordered. "I … I'll do it."

Alexia clenched her fists. In some corner of her mind, she knew the younger girl was only going along with what the clowns wanted because the alternative was _both_ of them ending up tied to these railroad tracks. But that didn't make it any better. Maybe she and Izzy had never really been friends, or even allies for more than a few minutes, but still…

"No tricks this time," one of the clowns droned. "Make sure the knots are good and tight." _This time?_ Had they done this to other tributes? Alexia clenched her fists, biting down hard on the fabric in her mouth as the clowns pinned her left arm down and pain shot through her injured shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Izzy whispered as she looped a strip of fabric around one of the railroad ties, then around Alexia's wrist, and tied a knot as tightly as she could – nearly tight enough to make Alexia's hand go numb. Then she did the same with the other wrist. Alexia kicked as hard as she could, but the clowns grabbed her legs and quickly bound those, as well. Then, just for good measure, they tied a few extra strips around her arms – maybe in case she managed to get free from one of them.

Izzy straightened up, looking away. "Well, that should do it. Come on. I think there's someone over there!" She headed off into the distance, and the clowns followed. Alexia clenched her fists, struggling against her bonds. But they were too tight. The clowns had made sure of that.

Alexia could feel tears in her eyes as she finally managed to spit out the gag they'd stuffed in her mouth. "Help!" she called as loudly as she could. "Please! Please help me!" The chances of someone hearing her were slim, of course – and the chances of them actually wanting to _help_ were even slimmer. But what else was she supposed to do? Just lie here and wait for a train to run her over?

"Help!" Tears streamed down her cheeks as she called out into the darkness. Maybe there was something Trenton could do to help her. But what could the sponsors send her that she would be able to use in her position? No, her best chance of getting help was another tribute hearing her. Maybe Troy—

No. No, Troy was dead. Isabella was dead. Even Freya was dead. And Izzy had just tied her up and left her to die. There wasn't anyone else in the arena who would want to help her. Even if another tribute _did_ find her, the best they would probably do was give her a quick death rather than forcing her to wait for the train to squash her into a pulp.

But even that would be better. Less terrifying, at least. "Please!" she called as loudly as she could. "Somebody please help me!"

Suddenly, she heard something. Another voice in the distance. "It's coming from this direction." The voice almost sounded familiar. "This way! I think she's over here!"

She could see something in the dark – some sort of shape, coming closer. A tribute. No, _two_ tributes. "Izzy!" called a voice. "Where are you?"

Great. Of _course_ whoever it was was looking for the little girl, rather than her. Who else had been Izzy's ally?

"Wait, look over there!" The taller of the two shapes took a step towards her. "Dexter, get over here!"

Dexter. Of course. He was still alive. "Dexter!" Alexia called. "Dexter, it's me! Alexia! Help!"

Dexter rushed to her side, immediately pulling out a knife and cutting away at the ropes. "Alexia! What are you doing here?"

"Trying not to get run over," Alexia mumbled as a rumbling sound broke the air. "Hurry up!"

* * *

 **Merric Belgrave, 18  
** **District Four**

Merric knelt down to help Dexter cut through the last of the fabric that held his district partner to the tracks. Immediately, she rolled out of the way, safely out of the way of the train that was still chugging along in the distance. "Good thing we found you," Dexter observed.

Alexia clapped him on the back. "Yeah. I owe you one." She winced as she worked her left arm back into her sling. "So you're looking for Izzy?"

Dexter nodded. "Yeah. It's my fault she ran off. I didn't mean to scare her away. It was just a joke."

"Any chance you've seen her?" Merric asked. It seemed like a slim chance, but—

"Unfortunately, yes," Alexia nodded. "She's the one who did this." She gestured to the train tracks just as the train rumbled by.

Dexter took a step back. "What?"

"She ran into me along with some of the clown mutts, and she sort of … took charge of them. They headed off that way after leaving me for dead." She gestured down the tracks. "It might not be the best idea to go after her right now."

Merric hesitated. That didn't sound at all like Izzy. But if it was what she'd had to do in order to survive…

"There haven't been any cannons," Dexter observed hopefully. "So that means she's still alive."

Alexia nodded. "And she'll probably stay that way, as long as she doesn't do anything to upset the mutts. But if _you_ go after her, she might end up doing the same thing to you."

Dexter shook his head. "She would never! Would she, Merric?"

Merric looked away. A little while ago, he would have agreed. But if the choice was between killing them and being killed by mutts herself, he wasn't sure which one Izzy would choose. Which one would _he_ choose, if it came down to choosing between his life or his allies?

Merric clenched his fists. It shouldn't be that hard of a choice. He had volunteered for the Games, after all, _knowing_ this sort of thing could happen. _Knowing_ that he might have to choose between an ally's life or his own. But when he'd pictured those sorts of scenarios, he'd always imagined that ally being another Career. Someone else who had _chosen_ to be there, who had known the risks and volunteered, the same as him. He hadn't imagined it being someone like Dexter, someone like Izzy. If it came down to saving their lives or saving his own…

But they weren't in that position. Not yet. Right now, they were just looking for Izzy. Alexia shook her head. "Look, you do what you want. If you want to go after her … well, that's where she went." She pointed off in the distance. "Me? I'm getting as far away from here as I can."

Merric nodded. "Fair enough." Izzy wasn't her ally, after all. Part of him knew the Gamemakers wouldn't like him and Dexter simply letting her go, but if they'd wanted to kill her, they should have done it before. Or they could simply have left her to be run over by the train. But that had never really seemed like an option. Not with her crying out for help like that.

"Good luck," Alexia called as she headed off in the opposite direction, towards a train station in the distance.

"Good luck!" Dexter called back, even though the phrase was pretty much meaningless now. No matter how lucky any of them got, eventually, only one of them could make it out of the arena alive. And if he wanted it to be him, he had to stop thinking about what would keep his allies alive, how they could all stay together. Eventually, he would have to think about what was best for _him_.

Eventually. But not yet. There were still eleven tributes left. They were barely halfway through the Games. They could stay together for a while yet. Merric nodded, placing a hand on Dexter's shoulder. "Let's go find Izzy."

* * *

 **Shasta Evans, 17  
** **District Nine**

Shasta slowed down a little as he neared the Ferris wheel. He hadn't really wanted to come back this way, but after leaving Wade at the pond, it had been the easiest way to run. Maybe now he would get the chance to see what was in the backpack he'd taken. Shasta opened the bag, pulling out a blanket, a water bottle, a few caramel apples, and the coil of rope that the boy from Two had tossed Wade at the start of the Games. Nothing particularly surprising. Nothing all that useful, really. But it had given him an excuse not to kill the younger boy, so that was something.

But it was an excuse that would only last so long. Eventually, he would have to kill again if he wanted to go home. And he _did_ want to go home. But the thought of killing to get there … it sickened him even more now. Now that he was so close to where he'd killed the boy from Twelve. Shasta sank down in the grass near the Ferris wheel, glad it was too dark to really tell where they boy's body had been. Would there still be blood? There was still blood on his hands, after all – blood he hadn't bothered to wash away.

Well, that was something he could fix, at least. Shasta took the water bottle that had been in Wade's bag and poured a little over his hands. Then a little more. But the blood wouldn't come out. He scrubbed as hard as he could with the fabric of the bag, but nothing happened. His hand was just as red as it had been.

Maybe it was a sign. A reminder of what he had done. What he would have to do again. Shasta swallowed hard, forcing back the lump in his throat. He didn't _want_ to. He didn't _want_ to be here. He didn't want any of this. It wasn't fair!

Suddenly, he heard a rustling sound. Shasta stood up as quickly as he could, grabbing his spear from where it lay on the ground. "Who's there?"

But the only response he got was a mechanical whirring noise. He turned around to see one of the clown mutts emerging form the bushes behind him. Shasta took a step back. He could only see one of them. Maybe the Gamemakers were giving him a chance. A chance to prove that he still had what it took. Maybe he wasn't ready to kill another tribute just yet, but he could at least kill this mutt.

So as the clown drew closer, he charged, sinking his spear deep into its chest. The clown stopped for a moment. But only for a moment. Then, with one quick motion, it broke off the end of the spear and lumbered towards Shasta.

 _Shit_. What was he supposed to do now? He reached into his pocket, drawing his knife, but took a step back as he did so. Maybe it was better to run. Maybe…

Then he saw it – another clown approaching from behind him. And another, off to his left. Another to his right. He was surrounded. The Gamemakers – they weren't trying to give him a chance. They wanted him _dead_. Why? Was it because he hadn't killed Wade? Had they wanted _him_ dead? Or had they simply wanted him to do something?

Panicked, Shasta took off running, but the nearest clown grabbed him by the wrist, and Shasta felt something snap. The knife fell from his grip as he cried out in pain. "Wait! Wait! Just give me another chance! Please!"

But the clowns weren't listening. The one he had driven his spear into pulled the pointed end of the spear from its own chest. Shasta struggled in the other clown's grip, but he couldn't break free. "Wait!" he pleaded, but before another word left his lips, the clown drove the pointed end of the spear deep into his stomach.

Only then did the other clown let go. Shasta sank to the ground as the clown pulled the spear from his stomach, blood immediately pouring from the wound. Something struck him in the head. One of the other clowns was holding something. A bat of some sort. A baseball bat, Shasta realized as it came down again, this time striking his shoulder with a crack. Pain shot through his chest, his legs, his back, as the bat came down again and again.

Tears filled his eyes as everything began to fade. It wasn't _fair_. He'd deserved another chance. He could have done better. He _should_ have done better. Now he would never get the chance.

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

 _Boom._ The sound of a cannon shook Cosima awake. Not that she'd been sleeping that soundly to begin with. After spending most of the day in the corn field, she'd decided to simply stay there for the night. It had seemed like a better idea than sleeping out in the open, but now…

Now she couldn't help but wonder if she should have tried to find somewhere a bit safer. Somewhere a bit more hidden. Sure, settling down in the middle of the corn field meant that other tributes weren't likely to stumble upon her by accident, but it also meant that she would have pretty much no warning if someone _did_ find her. And by this point in the Games…

By this point, tributes didn't usually stumble upon each other by accident, anyway. If tributes weren't finding each other on their own, the Gamemakers weren't exactly shy about lending a hand, driving tributes towards each other in order to create a little drama. Or sometimes even sending mutts to finish off a tribute or two who didn't seem to be doing much.

But she _had_ been doing something. The reason she was even _in_ the corn field in the first place was because she'd been chasing a tribute. Sure, it had only been because she'd thought the tribute was Wade, and, sure, she hadn't actually _caught_ the other tribute, but it was obvious that she was _trying_. Wasn't it?

Of course it was. She'd killed a tribute, after all. Sure, that had been two nights ago, but it wasn't as if she'd run into any tributes since then.

Well, except for Wade.

And except the pair they'd run into last night in the corn field. But there had been two of them – and one of them a Career. They'd both been armed, and she and Wade had been drunk. The thought of killing them hadn't even crossed her mind, really.

Maybe that was the problem. The only reason she'd teamed up with Wade, after all, was because he'd happened to find her and Clemence. And she'd only ended up with Clemence because they'd been at the same pond, and neither of them had wanted to fight the other. But if she wanted to make it out of this arena alive, she would have to stop teaming up with people and start _killing_ them. Or else…

Or else there was no _telling_ what the Gamemakers might do. What they might send after her. Cosima tucked her knees to her chest and lay as still as she could, hoping that they wouldn't decide to do anything tonight. In the morning, she could figure out what to do next. In the morning, she could find her way out of this corn field. Maybe even find another tribute. All she had to do was last until then.

Cosima brushed a few tears away as she closed her eyes. There had just been a cannon, after all. Surely that would be enough to placate the audience for a while. That would probably be enough to get her through the night. But in the morning, she would have to do _something_ if she wanted to survive.

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

Thalia sighed as the boom of the cannon echoed through the arena. Another tribute down. That meant there were only ten of them left, and she didn't seem to be any closer to finding any of the other tributes. But if that cannon was anything to go by, _someone_ had. _Someone_ was having better luck.

Thalia gave a nearby husk of corn a kick. It wasn't as if she wasn't trying. She'd killed three tributes after all. None since the first night, but not for lack of trying. She just didn't know where anybody _was_. "A clue would be nice right about now," she mumbled, loudly enough, she was sure, for the cameras to pick her up. Maybe Artemis would take a hint.

Sure enough, a soft beeping noise filled the air as a package drifted down. Had Artemis just been waiting for her to ask? Thalia caught the package, which seemed rather small, but it didn't have to be something _big_. It just had to be something _useful_. She already had all the supplies and weapons she could ask for, after all. All she needed was _some_ hint of where any of the other tributes were.

As she tore off the wrapping, however, Thalia shook her head. A baseball? What sort of a clue was that supposed to be? She remembered what it was, of course. She'd seen the boy from Twelve throw one at the start of the Games. That could come in handy, but it didn't really tell her _where_ to go.

Just as she was about to say so, a rumbling in the distance alerted her to the train that was approaching. Thalia took a few steps back from the tracks as it chugged closer and closer, but it seemed to be slowing down. Maybe _that_ was the hint she'd been looking for. Thalia took a step closer as the train rumbled to a stop. A door on one of the last cars was open. She quickly climbed in, and the train started to roll again. "Okay, then," she agreed. "Let's go."

The train kept rumbling on, but it didn't really show any signs of stopping. Faster. Faster. Certainly faster than seemed safe for a rickety old train. Thalia grabbed hold of one of the railings near the door. Were they _trying_ to throw her off the train? But what would be the point in that? Why let the sponsors send her something if they just wanted to kill her? Why would the Gamemakers go through the trouble of arranging a train ride for her rather than simply sending some mutts to kill her?

No. No, this wasn't meant to kill her. Probably just to scare her. To coax her into doing _something_ a bit more interesting. Thalia nodded as the train slowed down a little, back to a relatively normal speed. Okay. Okay, it was working. Her heart was racing now, but at least she was alive. At least they were going to give her another chance to do _something_. She would just have to make sure she used that chance.

* * *

 **Carlisle Talbot, 18  
** **District Six**

The noise of the train woke Carlisle as it rumbled past again. Carlisle groaned a little as he turned over. Why wouldn't the darn thing just _stop_ already? Were the Gamemakers _trying_ to keep him awake all night?

Maybe. Maybe that was his punishment for letting Clemence get away. If so, maybe it was better to be grateful they hadn't decided to do something worse. Grateful that the clowns had tried to go after her instead of immediately turning on him and killing him, instead. He was still alive, after all, and that was something.

At the moment, though, it was about the only thing he had. Freya was gone. Clemence, if she knew what was good for her, was as far away as she could get. There was nobody left for him to worry about. Maybe that was a good thing, but it felt … almost lonely. It was strange, really, how quickly he'd gotten used to having Freya around.

They had known from the start, of course, that their alliance couldn't last forever. But this wasn't how he'd wanted it to end. She'd run off thinking that he was about to kill Clemence. And not just kill her, but tie her up and leave her for dead, because it would be more _entertaining_. That was the last Freya had seen of him, maybe even the last thought in her mind when she'd died.

At the time, he'd thought it was clever. But maybe it had just been stupid. He'd spared Clemence's life, and for what? His ally was dead now, and Clemence … She was still alive somewhere, but with any luck, he would never see her again. Maybe he should have just killed her when he'd had the chance.

Carlisle sat up a little. He certainly wasn't going to get any sleep right now. There had been a cannon not too long ago, which meant that something was happening. Something besides the train rumbling persistently past every now and then. If he wasn't going to get any sleep, he should probably be on guard. He would have to be ready for anything.

Suddenly, he heard something. A low sort of snorting noise. Almost a growling. Carlisle got to his feet as quickly as he could. He knew that sound. The same sort of sound he'd heard days ago, when he'd been attacked by—

By a mechanical bull. Carlisle turned in time to see it charging. He reached for his sickle, but he already knew it wasn't going to do any good – not against something made out of metal. And he was in no condition to run. He had to do something. _Something._

But there was nothing nearby. Nothing useful, anyway. Nothing to hide behind. Nothing he could trick the bull into running into. As fast as he could, he headed towards the railroad tracks. Maybe the train would come along in time to hit the bull.

But before he even made it to the tracks, the bull caught up to him. Carlisle couldn't hold back a scream as one of the bull's tusks sliced across his leg. He swung his sickle as hard as he could, but the blade only glanced off the bull's hide as it rammed its head into his stomach, driving him to the ground. Pain shot through his leg as one of the bull's hooves landed on it. Carlisle swung again, but it did no good. The bull swung its head, its horns slicing across his arm, sending the blade flying as blood dripped from the wound.

Carlisle tried to get up. To back away. But the bull's hooves came down once more, striking his legs with a terrible cracking sound. "Fine, then!" Carlisle growled. "Why don't you just finish it?" He grabbed hold of the bull's horns as its head came down, and it lifted him into the air. One swing of its head sent him flying, and he landed with a crash next to something … something round.

Carlisle laughed as he reached for it – for the baseball he'd almost forgotten was there. The bull lowered its head again, charging towards him. Carlisle took a deep breath and threw the baseball.

* * *

 **Clemence Aldrin, 14  
** **District Six**

Clemence jumped as the explosion shook the air. She'd heard the screams – screams she was almost certain belonged to Carlisle – and had been heading back towards the railroad tracks where she had last seen him. Whatever may have happened, she owed him her life. If he was in trouble…

Then what? What could she really expect to do? Clemence stumbled in the direction of the explosion. She had nothing – nothing she could use to help him. She had no weapons, no supplies, no allies. What did she really think she was going to accomplish?

But there hadn't been a cannon – not for a while. Certainly not since the screaming had started. After glancing back and forth for any sign of a train, Clemence crossed the railroad tracks, finally calling out quietly. "Carlisle? Is that you?"

For a moment, there was nothing. Then she heard a groan. "Carlisle?" she repeated. "Where are you?"

"Clemence?"

"Yes!"

"What the hell are you doing here?" Finally, she caught a little movement in the distance. What _was_ she doing here? Whatever had caused the explosion would probably be back soon. And she certainly wasn't going to be much help when that happened.

Still, she couldn't help taking a step closer. Then another. When she could finally see her district partner, however, she wished she hadn't. His clothes were torn and bloody, his expression twisted with pain as he tried to sit up. He wasn't having much success with that. His left arm was bleeding, and his right leg was bent out at an awkward angle. But it was his stomach that was the worst of it. She could see clean through to his guts. "What happened?"

"A bull." He nodded in the opposite direction, indicating a scattered bunch of metal. "I blew it to hell … but not before it did this." He paused for a moment, catching his breath. "Not too great, huh?"

"You'll be fine." It was a lie, and an obvious one, at that. He was done for; that much was clear from the belly wound, even ignoring the rest. There was nothing to be done, really. Nothing but wait for what was certain to happen.

"Liar." Carlisle chuckled a little. "Just … just don't let me die alone."

Clemence squeezed his hand tightly. "You're not going to die." Another lie, but she clung to it as tightly as she clung to his hand. She'd already lost too many people. Already seen too much death. Once he was gone, too…

"Keep telling yourself that, kid." Carlisle shook his head a little. "Look, Freya and I left our supplies over by the boat. If someone's going to have them, it might as well be you, since she's…"

Dead. Freya was dead, too. He'd lost his only ally – maybe even because of her. Freya had run off when he'd tied her to the railroad tracks. Saving her life had cost him an ally – and maybe even his own life. If he hadn't let her go, would the Gamemakers still have sent a mutt after him? Maybe. Maybe Freya would still have been there, and they would have been able to handle the bull together.

"Clemence?"

How long had he been saying her name? "I'm here."

"Look, even if you're not going to go get the rest of the supplies, could you … could you get some water?"

Clemence couldn't help a small smile. "You got it." She hurried over to fetch the water, along with the blanket that was with the canteen.

"Thanks," Carlisle mumbled as she poured some water into his mouth. "Consider us even, kid."

Right. As if a little water made up for the debt she owed him for sparing her life. "Is there anything else I can do?" she asked quietly. "I could try to—" She gestured towards his arm, his legs, his gut. There was nothing she could do to make it all better, but she could try to make him a little more comfortable.

Carlisle shook his head. "No point. Save the supplies you have. There's a sickle lying around here somewhere, too – if that didn't get blown to bits."

"I'll find it later," Clemence assured him, giving his hand another squeeze. "Don't worry about that. Just … just try to rest."

"Just try to die faster, you mean?" Carlisle chuckled a little. "I don't think that'll be much of a problem."

* * *

 **Confidence Best, 16  
** **District One**

Stupid train. Confidence rolled his eyes as the train thundered on in the distance, heading in his direction again. It seemed to be slowing down this time. _Good_. Maybe that meant the damn thing was finally going to stop. It had been keeping him up all night. Not that he would have gotten much sleep, anyway, but still.

As it slowed to a halt, however, someone jumped out. Confidence nearly laughed when he saw who it was. "Thalia!"

"Confidence?" She took a step backwards. "Been a while."

"Yeah."

"What's new?"

"Killed Freya," Confidence offered. "You?"

"Been hunting for tributes, but haven't found any for quite a while. Sponsors sent me this." She held up a baseball.

Confidence took a step back. "Not thinking of using that on _me_ , are you?"

"The thought occurred to me."

Confidence smirked. "Really? Are you that certain you can take on any other group in the arena by yourself?"

"Is there a reason to think I couldn't?"

Confidence shrugged. "Suit yourself. I can think of a better use for that, though."

"Such as?"

Before he could answer, a pinging noise filled the air, and a parachute dropped towards the pair of them. "Odd," Thalia muttered, but the parachute landed beside him, instead.

"Looks like Artemis thinks it's better for us to work together for a while," Confidence chuckled as he opened the package, revealing a box of matches. "You got an explosive. I got some matches. Sounds like we're a team."

Thalia lowered the baseball. "I guess so. Maybe that means there's a larger group somewhere in the arena."

Confidence nodded. "Could be. Or maybe that there's more than one tribute pretty close by, and we should focus on them rather than trying to kill each other."

Thalia smirked. "So what do you think they want us to blow up?"

Confidence looked around. "Could be anything. If they aren't planning to give us any more concrete clues…" He trailed off, glancing towards the sky. There was nothing. "...then maybe we should just pick something."

Thalia nodded. "Sounds good to me. How about that carousel over there?"

Confidence nodded. "Got any wire?"

"Sure. But what for? We could just throw the baseball at it."

"If they gave us matches, there must be some sort of reason. Maybe there's something specific that would cause more of an explosion if we hit it – something we can set the baseball near and run a wire to set it off."

Thalia rummaged through her bag and pulled out some wire. "Long enough?"

Confidence nodded. "Just has to be long enough for us to get a safe distance away, really." They headed for the carousel. "Where do you think we should put it?"

Thalia studied the carousel for a moment before gesturing towards some sort of control panel. "How about that?"

"Works for me." He attached a wire to the baseball, and Thalia placed it on the panel. "Let's see how far this thing will go." Slowly, he let the wire out of the coil until it reached the end, only a short distance away from a tree. "All right. Let's see what this will do." He struck a match and lit the end of the wire. As the flame traveled down the coil, he and Thalia ducked behind the tree.

The explosion shook the air, engulfing the carousel in a ball of fire. But it was what came _out_ of the fire that made Confidence gasp. Horses – the carousel horses – burst out of the fire, still covered in flames, and galloped off in every direction, setting the grass aflame as they went. Confidence glanced over at Thalia, who was grinning. "Beautiful!"

Beautiful. Deadly. Maybe they were the same thing, in the Games. And the fiery horses might be able to flush out any other tributes who were in the area. Confidence gripped his mace as he grinned back. Maybe they made a good pair, after all.

* * *

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.**

 **20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.**

 **19th - Stanley Newton, D3. Stabbed with a katana by Thalia Gold.**

 **18th - Cherry Thatch, D11. Stabbed with a spear by Decima Clear.**

 **17th - Garth Kain, D11. Stomach and throat sliced by Carlisle Talbot.**

 **16th - Emilia Rey Fumero, D12. Stabbed in the back by Wade Larthey.**

 **15th - Decima Clear, D2. Stabbed in the back by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **14th - Isabella Thatcher, D8. Drowned in a pit trap after being speared by Cosima Byte.**

 **13th - Troy Arrowhead, D12. Speared by Shasta Evans.**

 **12th - Freya Clearwater, D4. Head bashed in by Confidence Best.**

 **11th - Shasta Evans, D9. Stabbed and beaten by clown mutts.**

* * *

 **District Placements:**

 **12th - District 11 - Best Placement: 17th**

 **11th - District 2 - Best Placement: 15th**

 **10th - District 8 - Best Placement: 14th**

 **9th - District 12 - Best Placement: 13th**

 **8th - District 9 - Best Placement: 11th**


	36. Day Six - Roulette

**Day Six  
** **Roulette**

* * *

 _Roulette: A gambling game in which a ball is dropped into a revolving wheel with numbered compartments, the players betting on the number at which the ball will come to rest._

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

It was the sound of hooves that woke her, but the smoke in the air that alerted her to the fact that she needed to get up _now_. Cosima sprang to her feet as a horse galloped past. Cosima shook her head. Maybe she was still half-asleep, because the horse seemed to be metal. And it seemed to be _on fire_.

Then again, everything around her seemed to be on fire – or at least close to it. The horse was trailing flames in its wake, setting the corn stalks aflame. Cosima grabbed her pack and raced through the corn field, without much thought about which direction she was going or whether she might be heading _exactly_ where the other tributes wanted her to go.

There was no way this fire was an accident, after all. Someone had set it. Probably someone who wanted to coax the tributes out of hiding. Maybe one of the other tributes. Maybe even the Gamemakers. Whatever the case, she didn't really have a choice. She _had_ to get away from the fire. And if that meant running towards the other tributes, then so be it.

Cosima blinked the tears from her eyes as she plunged onward through the smoke. Everything else could wait. She had to get out of the corn field. That was all there was to it. She just had to keep going. Through the flames. Through the smoke.

Suddenly, she could feel the heat of the flames directly behind her. Her backpack was on fire. _Shit!_ Without thinking, she slid the backpack off as she ran. She could find more supplies later. Assuming the whole arena wasn't on fire. Right now, her life was more important.

Breathe.

But it was getting harder to breathe. She was coughing almost uncontrollably by the time she finally reached the edge of the corn field and got a good look at the rest of the arena. She almost wished she hadn't. Everything seemed to be burning. The corn field. The train station. The trees. Everything except...

Except the pond. Of course. As fast as she could, Cosima raced towards the pond. She couldn't swim, but as long as she stayed in the shallow water, she would be safe. Safe from the flames, at least – and that was all that mattered right now.

The water was surprisingly cool. Cosima ducked under the water, making sure to stay where she could touch the bottom of the pond. It didn't seem to be that deep, anyway. Cosima breathed a sigh of relief, glancing around the arena. There didn't seem to be any other tributes nearby, but she couldn't count on that for long. If they had any sense at all, they would head for the water, which meant she could have company very soon.

For the moment, though, she was safe – a feeling that was only confirmed as a beeping noise filled the air and a small parachute floated down through the smoke. Cosima chuckled as it landed in the water beside her. "Okay, then." Maybe some supplies to replace the ones she'd left to burn in the corn field.

As she opened it, she couldn't hold back a laugh. "Really? A _water_ bottle?" She opened it and drank a little, but it still seemed a bit silly. She was in a _pond_ , after all. And it wasn't as if this was the only source of water in the arena, either. Still, at least this meant she would have a way to carry that water now. She wouldn't have to stay by the pond.

And maybe _that_ was the message. Don't stay in the pond too long. She could probably stay until the fire burned itself out, but after that, she would have to leave. She would have to get moving. That was probably why the Gamemakers had allowed the fire to burn in the first place – to get the tributes moving.

Well, she could take a hint. Once the fire died down, she would leave. Until then, she would just have to sit tight and hope for the best.

* * *

 **Dexter Guernsey, 13  
** **District Ten**

All he could do was hope that Izzy was safe from the fire, too. The smoke was getting too thick to see anything. Merric was still beside him, gripping his hand tightly. But there was no way for them to find Izzy. No way to see _anything_ through the smoke. No way to even tell which way the fire was coming from, or which would be the best way to go.

But going _anywhere_ was better than staying put. The entire arena seemed to be on fire. If they stayed put, they would die. If they kept moving, they _might_ be able to find somewhere to hide. Somewhere safe. Somewhere that _wasn't_ on fire yet. Dexter gripped Merric's hand as tightly as he could. They'd already lost track of one ally. He had no intention of losing another.

Suddenly, Merric pointed at something in the distance. "Look! A tree!"

Dexter shook his head. "What good does _that_ do us? Trees burn!"

Merric nodded. "Yeah, but if one of us can climb it quickly, we might get a good look around before—"

"Before we get burned alive?" Dexter blurted out before he could stop himself. He couldn't help it. He was scared. More scared than he'd ever been in his life. And what Merric was suggesting – it didn't sound like a good idea at all.

"Do you have a better idea?" Merric demanded.

He didn't. He didn't have any idea what to do. He didn't have any idea what the Gamemakers were thinking. Did they mean to just kill them all? There were still ten tributes left. They couldn't be trying to end the Games _this_ soon.

Could they?

No. No, Merric's plan was better than no plan at all. "Okay," he agreed reluctantly, and the pair of them headed for the tree, the fire close behind them. Dexter rubbed the smoke from his eyes with his free hand, clinging tightly to Merric.

"I'll climb up," the older boy offered as they reached the tree, and Dexter didn't argue. His plan. His risk. Besides, he was probably the faster climber. Dexter finally let go of Merric's hand and watched as his ally – his friend – climbed higher and higher into the branches. "Do you see anything?"

"I think we should head south!" Merric called back. "The fire seems a bit thinner in that direction!"

South. The sun was probably rising somewhere, but he couldn't see it through the smoke. Which way was south? How the hell could _Merric_ tell which way south was? Maybe he could see the sun better from up there. "Which way's that?"

"That way!" Merric pointed off to Dexter's right. "Get going! I'm right behind you!"

He didn't want to. He wanted to wait for Merric to climb down. But the fire was getting closer and closer. Hotter and hotter. He could feel the smoke getting thicker. If he waited for Merric now, they might both die.

Besides, Merric could catch up. He was a Career, after all. He was faster. And he was already halfway down from the tree. Dexter took off through the smoke, hoping Merric was right about being right behind him. If not…

If not, they would find each other later. That had always seemed to work out before. Merric and Izzy had found him at the cornucopia. They'd found each other in the corn field. And they could do it again, if that was what they had to do. They'd always gotten lucky before. Why would that change now?

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

Maybe the fire was for the best, after all. Izzy coughed a little as she followed the clowns. This could be her chance to get away. All she had to do was distract the clowns long enough. She could probably make a run for it.

Probably. But 'probably' wasn't good enough. The clowns could easily catch her if they wanted to. Which meant that she would have to do something to convince the Gamemakers to let her go. Something interesting. Something _daring_.

Then she saw something through the smoke. Some sort of animal, galloping towards her. Galloping. A _horse_. What was a horse doing in the middle of the fire? In fact, it seemed to be _on_ fire. Izzy lunged out of the way as it approached, but then she saw something. A rope, hanging from the horse's neck. Was that supposed to be a hint? Were the Gamemakers trying to give her a way out?

There was only one way to find out. As the horse drew closer, Izzy reached out and grabbed the rope, quickly pulling herself onto the horse's back. Okay. Okay, then. But now what was she supposed to do?

Before she could even think about how to give the horse directions, it took off, its mane and tail still burning. Izzy gripped the rope tightly, hoping it wouldn't catch fire. She just had to hold on. Just long enough to get away from the fire.

Suddenly, the rope snapped. Izzy couldn't help a scream as she was thrown from the horse, half a rope still in her grasp. As she flew through the air, she struck something. Something soft.

Another tribute.

 _Shit_. She couldn't see through the smoke who it was, but she could feel them. A pair of hands, reaching out towards her. Maybe trying to grab her. Maybe just trying to figure out what had hit them. She wasn't sure.

And she couldn't risk waiting to find out.

Still coughing from the smoke, still winded from being thrown, Izzy reached out with the only weapon she had – the rope that was in her hands. Her hands found the tribute's neck, and she looped the rope around as quickly as she could. The tribute let out a noise. A gasping, wheezing sound. Izzy squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't look. She had to do this. If the Gamemakers had forced the horse to throw her, this was probably the reason. They'd wanted one of them to kill the other, and if _she_ didn't do it…

Then the other tribute would. Izzy squeezed as hard as she could, the other tribute thrashing beneath her grasp. Gasping for breath. Izzy squeezed harder. Harder. Finally, the thrashing stopped. The body beneath her went limp.

 _Boom!_

Izzy finally relaxed her grip as the cannon sounded. Okay. She was alive. She was still alive. And the other tribute – whoever it was – they were dead. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

Immediately, she wished she hadn't. Now that the smoke was clearing a little, she could see the back of the other tribute's head. The tribute's hair.

 _Red_ hair.

No. No, it couldn't be. It couldn't be him. He was supposed to be back at the cornucopia. He wasn't supposed to be here.

He wasn't supposed to be _dead_.

Izzy couldn't stop the tears as she turned the body over. Dexter's body. He was dead. She had killed him. Izzy scooped his body up in her arms, sobbing into his shirt. She hadn't meant for this to happen. She hadn't meant to kill him.

She could feel the fire getting closer, the smoke getting thicker. But she didn't care. She didn't care about any of it. Maybe it would be better if she just stayed here.

* * *

 **Carlisle Talbot, 18  
** **District Six**

"You can't stay here," Carlisle whispered, his voice hoarse from the smoke that was starting to drift closer. Closer. He gripped Clemence's hand tightly. "Look, you did everything you could. Now you have to save yourself."

Clemence shook her head stubbornly. "I … I can bring you with me. I can help you walk if—"

"You're kidding, right?"

"I can't just leave you here to be burned alive."

Carlisle managed a small smile. "Well, thank goodness for that, at least." He reached for the sickle she'd managed to find earlier. "I wasn't asking you to leave me _alive_."

"You want me to…"

No. No, he didn't _want_ her to. He didn't want to die at all. But that was rather inevitable now. He hadn't expected to last _this_ long with the wound in his stomach. And if the choice was between being burned alive and a quick death at his district partner's hands … well, there wasn't really much of a choice.

Carlisle nodded, pressing the sickle into her hands. "You can do it. Take the supplies. Get out of here. Survive."

Clemence shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "It should be you. It shouldn't be me."

"Bullshit." He gripped her hand tightly. "Doesn't matter who it _should_ be. It shouldn't be _any_ of us, but it is. And right now it's you. _You_ get to survive." He shook his head. "Unless you want to stay here and die with me, I guess. Morbid, but poetic." He chuckled a little.

Clemence couldn't help a small laugh. "I don't think so."

Carlisle smiled. "I didn't expect you to. Now get it over with."

Clemence gripped the sickle, holding it against his neck. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not." And he wasn't. Not really. If he was going to die, maybe this wasn't so bad. There were worse ways to go. Worse people to be with now, at the end. Carlisle gave his district partner's hand one last squeeze. Then the sickle sliced across his neck, and everything went dark.

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

 _Boom!_ Thalia nearly jumped as another cannon sounded – the second since she and Confidence had blown up the carousel. It hadn't taken them long to realize exactly what they'd unleashed – and that any thought of flushing out the tributes would have to wait until they were safe. The fire was out of control, and the best thing – the only thing – to do now was to get away as quickly as they could.

"This way!" Thalia called, but she honestly had no idea whether or not Confidence was still behind her. He could be anywhere. Hell, _she_ could be anywhere. She wasn't entirely sure where anything was in this smoke. What had the Gamemakers been _thinking_?

What had _she_ been thinking? She and Confidence were the ones who had set off the explosion, after all. But when she'd seen the horses galloping out of the flames, she'd assumed that the Gamemakers would only use them to flush some of the other tributes out of hiding, not to set the whole damn arena on fire.

Suddenly, her foot caught on something as she ran, and she nearly tripped. "Damn it!" she called, glancing down to see a body. The girl from Ten. Thalia shook her head and took off running again. She would have to keep moving – and quickly – if she didn't want to end up right there beside her.

Only once she'd been running for a few minutes did it strike her as odd that the body hadn't been burnt at all. What had killed the girl? Smoke inhalation, maybe? Or maybe she'd had some sort of wound that Thalia hadn't seen. Still, it seemed a bit strange for the body to just be lying there.

What if she hadn't been dead?

Thalia shook the thought from her head. It was too late to go back and check now. The fire was too close behind her. Besides if the girl stayed there long enough, she _would_ be dead soon enough, if she wasn't already.

Thalia clenched her fists and kept running. Finally, she could see the cornucopia in the distance. But would even that be safe from the fire? Not likely. If the fire made it that far, it could easily burn up all of the supplies. No, the safer bet – now that she actually knew where she was – was to head for one of the ponds. There was one not too far away from the cornucopia, after all. She'd spent the night there a while ago, when the boy from Five had found her and taken shelter with her.

The thought made her chuckle a little. It seemed like such a long time ago. Now there were only eight of them left. They were down to the final _eight_ already. Maybe that was why the Gamemakers had decided to let the fire burn as long as it had. Maybe they were trying to speed things along a bit.

If so, it certainly seemed to be working. Two cannons in only a short period of time, and the fire was certainly showing no signs of stopping. She just hoped the pond was as close as she remembered it being. For now, she was safely ahead of the fire. For a moment, she even considered stopping at the cornucopia and picking up a few more supplies.

But that thought didn't last long. She already had plenty. Especially now that the Games were moving faster. What she had wouldn't have to last her more than a few days, at most. And she certainly had enough for that. It wasn't worth risking her life over. Right now, she just had to get to safety.

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

Part of her was still surprised that had actually worked. Alexia struggled to hold back a cough as she staggered to her feet, still keeping a close eye on the direction where the girl from One had disappeared. It had been a desperate idea, playing dead to try to avoid the Career's attention, but she'd been banking on the idea that even a Career would want to get as far away from the fire as they could, as quickly as possible, and might not bother with what appeared to be a dead body.

And it had worked. Alexia stumbled off in the opposite direction, back towards the corn field. The wind had taken a turn, forcing the worst part of the fire off to the east. Which was good for her, since she seemed to be on the western side of the arena. All she had to do was get to the pond that was near the corn field, and she would probably be good for a while.

Alexia wiped the sweat from her forehead as she took a few more steps. Then a few more. All she really wanted right now was water. Between running from the clowns earlier and then from the fire, she'd lost most of the supplies she'd had, except for a knife in her pocket. And that wasn't going to do her much good for long if she couldn't find food and water.

Water. That was her first priority. The fire had made the entire arena hot and dry. But that also meant _water_ was where most of the other tributes would head.

The ones who were left, at least. There had been two cannons since the fire started, and there was no telling when the next one might come. That meant there were only eight of them left in the arena. The girl from One had been headed in the opposite direction, but she had no way of knowing where anyone else might be. She'd seen Dexter, of course, along with the boy from Four – and Izzy before that – but that had been hours ago. For all she knew, they were dead by now.

Of course, for all she knew, they were fifty feet in front of her.

Alexia shook the thought from her head. If the Gamemakers were determined to force her to run into someone else, they could have by now. Hell, they could probably have done something to make the girl from One think twice about leaving a body on the ground. They hadn't. For now, they were probably content with the two cannons that had sounded. As long as she kept moving, she would probably be fine.

So she would just have to keep moving.

Finally, she could see the pond in the distance. Alexia took a cautious step closer. Then another. "Hello?" she called quietly, as if anyone would really answer if they were there. Of course they wouldn't. _She_ certainly wouldn't, if she was hiding in the pond.

In fact, if there _was_ someone hiding in the pond, chances were good that they were just as scared as she was. That they had probably run there to hide from the fire, just like her. In fact, _anyone_ who was still alive was probably just as terrified, just as uncertain about what might be coming next. If there was anyone left in the arena who _wasn't_ scared, she would be very surprised.

But that didn't make it any safer. Frightened people sometimes did more dangerous things than people who weren't. Izzy had certainly been frightened when she'd helped the clowns tie Alexia to the railroad tracks. That hadn't stopped her. Quite the opposite.

"Hello?" a voice called back from the other end of the pond, startling Alexia.

Alexia took a step back. "Who's there?"

"You first."

Fine. No reason not to tell the truth. "Alexia. District Ten."

"Cosima. District Three."

So she was still alive. That made the two of them, plus the girl from One. Alexia took a few steps closer. "I just … just wanted some water."

To her surprise, Cosima nodded, stepping away from the pond. "Help yourself."

"You mean it?"

Cosima held up her hands. "Look, I'm not exactly armed. Doesn't look like you are, either. So unless we're planning to duke it out in a fistfight over a little water … yeah, I mean it."

Alexia nodded. She had a point. She had a knife, of course, but there was no way of knowing whether Cosima might have something up her sleeve, as well. It was probably safer to just take some water and leave.

But the Gamemakers…

Would they really let her just walk away? But what was the alternative? If they weren't going to fight…

Alexia took a step closer. "Do you mind if I stay?"

"Pardon?"

"Just for a little while. Until the fire dies down. Then we can go our separate ways, or, I mean, depending on who's left, we might want to…"

"Team up? Be allies? This late in the game?"

Alexia shrugged. "Hey, there are still eight tributes left. If you think you can take the others out all on your own, that's fine, but me? I think we could both use a little help."

Cosima hesitated a moment, then nodded. "For a little while."

Alexia nodded. "For a little while."

* * *

 **Confidence Best, 16  
** **District One**

Just a little longer. Confidence gripped his mace, safely hidden in the tunnel beneath the tent. As soon as he'd managed to break away from Thalia, he'd run straight for the tent, ready to wait out the worst of the fire. Now that the noise was finally dying down a little outside, Confidence opened the trap door and stuck his head out. There seemed to be more smoke now than actual fire, which was good. The bad news was that the tent he'd been hiding under was entirely burned down, completely exposing him to anyone who happened to be looking his way.

Fortunately, he didn't see anyone in the area. But in the distance … there seemed to be something. Something moving a little on the ground. Another tribute? Maybe. Maybe a mutt. Either way, it was obvious which was the best way to go now. As quietly as he could, trying not to startle the tribute – if it was a tribute – in the distance, Confidence crept a little closer. Then a little more.

Finally, he could see a little better through the smoke. It _was_ a tribute. Two, in fact, although one was either dead or unconscious from the smoke. The second, one of the younger boys, was going through the first tribute's pockets, gasping for breath. Maybe hoping for some water. That was what _he_ certainly wanted right about now. But if the other tribute had any, they would likely have drunk it all themselves.

Confidence gripped his mace, taking another step. Then another. Suddenly, he stepped on something – something that cracked. A piece of wood, maybe. _Shit_. The other tribute sprang to his feet, but Confidence was faster. Before the boy knew what hit him, Confidence was beside him, swinging his mace, knocking the boy's legs out from under him. The younger tribute landed with a thump on top of the body he'd been scavenging from.

Confidence swung again, but the boy rolled out of the way, scrambling to his feet. Trying to run. Confidence lunged, and the boy pulled a knife from his pocket. Right. Like a knife was really going to do him any good. Confidence swung his mace as hard as he could, knocking the blade from the boy's hand. The boy screamed in pain, clutching his hand as the knife flew off into the smoke.

Confidence swung again. The boy dodged – slower this time. One more swing from his mace swept the kid's legs out from under him once more, and he toppled to the ground, shielding his face with his hands as the mace came down. Blood spattered, but no cannon – not yet. The boy was still alive, clutching his hand, his nose broken and bleeding. Confidence raised his mace.

But as it came down, something stopped the blow. A spear. Confidence whirled around to see Merric, a spear in his hand. "Go!" Merric shouted at the other boy. "Get out of here! And take her with you!" He gestured to the body on the ground. Apparently, he thought the girl was still alive.

Maybe she was. He hadn't bothered to check. He'd been more concerned with the boy. But now his concern was Merric. The others could wait until later.

* * *

 **Merric Belgrave, 18  
** **District Four**

"Get out of here!" Merric called again, fending off another blow from Confidence as the boy he'd saved staggered towards Izzy. At least, he hoped it was still Izzy – and not Izzy's corpse. The boy looked around helplessly, probably wondering how he was supposed to get her to safety. Merric took another swing at Confidence, trying to drive him farther away from the two younger tributes. But Confidence circled back around towards them.

Just as he did, however, something burst out of the smoke – something fiery. One of the horses that had started the fire to begin with. Merric almost burst out laughing as the horse bent down, allowing the younger boy to hoist Izzy's body up onto its back before climbing on himself. "Go!" Merric shouted. "I'm right behind you!"

He'd said the same thing to Dexter earlier, but it had taken him longer to get down from the tree than he'd anticipated. Merric swung again. Confidence didn't seem to be tiring at all. It was almost as if he hadn't been breathing the smoky air for the last … How long had it even been? Hours? It certainly felt like hours. Merric staggered backwards through the smoke, smiling a little as the horse rode off. At least Izzy was safe, and the boy from Five along with her. That was something.

Now if only he could find Dexter.

Merric dodged another blow, circling around in the smoke. That would have to wait. First, he had to deal with Confidence. He ducked below Confidence's next blow, stabbing at his legs. Confidence dodged, but not before the spear scraped across his calf, drawing a little blood. Confidence kicked at the spear, nearly wrenching it from Merric's grasp. But he held on tightly. Right now, it was the only weapon he had. The only one he'd taken from the cornucopia when he and Dexter had run off after Izzy.

Merric backed up a little. Maybe he could tire Confidence out. Yes. Yes, that was it. He just had to keep dodging the boy's blows long enough for him to wear himself out. He took another step backwards. Then another.

Suddenly, his foot caught on something. He stumbled a little, but managed to catch himself in time. He barely had time to dodge Confidence's next blow, but, finally, he got enough of a chance to look down and see what he'd tripped over.

 _Who_ he'd tripped over.

Dexter. Shit. What was he supposed to do now? How was he supposed to get Dexter to safety now that he'd sent Izzy and Wade away? Merric dodged another blow, but as he did, something caught his eye. Something around Dexter's neck.

A rope.

He was already dead.

Merric clenched his teeth. He'd told Dexter to run on ahead, and it had gotten him killed. For all he knew, Confidence might have been the one who killed him. "Did _you_ do this?" Merric growled.

Confidence laughed. "What? The kid? Oh, was he one of yours? What was his name? Lester?"

"Dexter! Did you kill him?"

Confidence swung again. "No, but I would have, if I'd gotten the chance. That's the difference between me and you. You're _soft_ , and it's going to cost you."

"Don't count on it."

"Oh, it already happened. You could have stabbed me earlier, instead of stopping me from smashing that kid's face in. But you knew. You knew if you stabbed me in the back, I'd still have the strength to bring this mace down _one more time_ and kill your precious little friends."

Merric could feel his face growing red. The worst part was, he was right. It hadn't even occurred to him to go for the kill, instead. His only thought had been about saving … who? A boy he didn't even really know. He hadn't even seen Izzy until after the fact. Saving Wade … that had just been an instinct.

Merric took another jab at Confidence with his spear, but the boy showed no signs of tiring. He swung again. And again. Merric took another step backwards. Then another. This wasn't working. He had to try something else.

 _Think._

But it was getting harder to think clearly. The smoke seemed to be growing even thicker. Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of something behind him. A hole of some sort. Maybe he could trick Confidence into it…

It was certainly worth a try. Merric took a step backwards. Then another. Trying to steer Confidence towards the hole in the ground. Confidence smirked. "Nice try. That's where I was this whole time – safe from the fire."

Merric saw his chance. "Oh, so you were _hiding_?"

"I wasn't _hiding_! I was—"

"What, then?"

Without another word, Confidence lunged at Merric's legs. Merric dodged, taking a step backwards, but, just as Confidence landed beside him, the ground began to collapse. Whatever was holding up the ground above the tunnel, it must have been weakened by the fire. Merric staggered a little as the ground gave way beneath them, sending the pair of them tumbling down.

Merric landed with a thump and a crack – but not any of his bones. _Shit_. He'd landed on his spear. Broken it. But he couldn't let Confidence see that. The other boy charged, and Merric rolled out of the way, stabbing upwards with the tip of the spear, slicing across Confidence's thigh as the mace came down against his shoulder. Merric couldn't stop a cry of pain as the mace connected _hard_ , with an awful cracking sound.

Merric gripped the end of his spear tightly, stabbing again, but Confidence kicked it from his hand as he brought the mace down again. Merric tried to stand, but it was too late. The mace struck the back of his head with a crack, sending everything into a blurry haze. Merric barely felt the spear slide from his grip. At least Izzy had gotten away. At least she was safe. That was something. Maybe that was good enough...

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

 _Boom!_ Another cannon shook the air – the third since the fires had started. Wade gripped the horse's mane as tightly as he could with his left hand, but even that was hard. The mane was no longer burning like it had been when he'd first seen the horses gallop by, but it was still hot. He could feel it burning into his skin, but he didn't dare let go. He didn't want to risk being thrown. Not until they were a safe distance away. Not until he was sure the Career wouldn't come after him.

Wade gasped for breath as the horse galloped on through the smoke. It was almost like something out of one of his comic books – the hero scooping up and rescuing a beautiful girl and carrying her to safety on a fiery steed. Except none of that was true. He wasn't a hero. He hadn't been trying to save the girl. The only reason he'd been attacked in the first place was because he'd been rummaging through her supplies trying to find water. Hell, he'd assumed she was dead until the boy had told him to take her with him.

He still wasn't entirely sure why he'd done that. He could easily have gotten on the horse himself and simply rode out of there without any trouble. But the older boy had saved his life. Maybe that earned him … what? A favor?

Wade gripped the horse's mane as it finally slowed to a stop near what looked like a ship. Quickly, Wade slid off the horse, immediately collapsing onto the scorched ground as the horse dumped the girl off next to him. For a moment, he simply lay there, exhausted. His right hand still hurt like hell, and his nose was almost certainly broken. It had stopped bleeding, at least – that was something – but he was certainly in no condition to fight.

He just hoped he wouldn't have to. The Gamemakers wouldn't allow him to escape from one fight only to send him headlong into another, would they? Maybe. Maybe not. There was no telling, really, what they might do. Wade closed his eyes. He didn't want to fight. He didn't even want to _move._ Everything hurt. He could tell without looking that his left hand hand been burned where he'd held onto the horse's mane. The Career's mace had completely smashed his left. There was no telling what else might be wrong with him.

But he was alive.

That was something. Right now, it was _everything_. It was the only thing he had. No food. No water. No supplies. No weapons. _Nothing_. Nothing except his own life and a girl who was probably still unconscious.

Slowly, Wade opened his eyes. Sure enough, the girl next to him showed no signs of waking up. But she was still breathing. Still alive. Probably just passed out from the smoke. If he could get some water…

But he didn't want to get up.

Wade closed his eyes. He could worry about water later. He could worry about _everything_ later. If someone came along and killed him, _fine_. Right now, he just wanted to rest.

* * *

 **Clemence Aldrin, 14  
** **District Six**

She couldn't stop to rest. Not yet. Clemence staggered on towards the edge of the arena. She'd already crossed the railroad tracks, which meant she was probably safe from the fire. It seemed to have mostly stayed in the northern half or so of the arena. But apparently that had been enough to draw some of the tributes out of hiding. There had been three cannons since the fires started, after all.

Three cannons. And one of them had been Carlisle's. Clemence glanced down at the sickle in her hand, still wet with his blood. His family wouldn't even get a chance to bury him. The fire had probably burned his body to a crisp, along with anyone else who had been unlucky enough to get caught in it.

But she was still alive. Along with six other tributes. That was what mattered right now. She was in the final _seven_. She was still alive. She had a weapon. There hadn't been much in Carlisle's bag, but there had been a blanket, and maybe the corn field hadn't been completely burned down.

Maybe. That was a big maybe, but it was something. Besides, if there were only seven of them left, chances were, the Games wouldn't last much longer – one way or the other. All she had to do was hold out a little longer.

Right. Hold out a little longer and either kill six other tributes or wait for them to kill each other. It had been six days, and the only person she'd actually _killed_ was Carlisle. And he'd been dying, anyway, which should have made it easier. But…

But _nothing_. If she hadn't done it, he would have burned alive in the fire. That would have been worse. He'd wanted her to do it. He'd _asked_ her to do it.

Still, she would never forget the look in his eyes. The way they'd slowly glossed over. How limp his body had been after…

 _Stop it._ She was used to dead bodies. That wasn't the problem. The problem was them being _alive_ one minute and then dead the next. The difference, the change – that was the problem. As rain started to pour down on the arena, Clemence finally sank down on the ground, shaking her head. Could she really do that again?

Yes. Yes, she could. Most tributes _could_ , when it came down to it. The real question was whether or not she would get the chance. Whether she could actually win a _fight_ against someone else. And while that didn't seem particularly likely, it was also true that she was still here. Still _alive_ , when her older, stronger district partner was dead. Still alive, when _seventeen_ other tributes were dead. That had to count for something.

* * *

 **Um ... whew! Three deaths in one chapter. Haven't had that for a while. Final seven, everybody!**

 **Completely and totally for fun, there's a poll on my profile to see if you can guess who the Victor is going to be. Since the Victor has already been randomly determined, this will affect exactly nothing, but you get ... bragging rights, I guess, if you get it right?**

* * *

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.**

 **20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.**

 **19th - Stanley Newton, D3. Stabbed with a katana by Thalia Gold.**

 **18th - Cherry Thatch, D11. Stabbed with a spear by Decima Clear.**

 **17th - Garth Kain, D11. Stomach and throat sliced by Carlisle Talbot.**

 **16th - Emilia Rey Fumero, D12. Stabbed in the back by Wade Larthey.**

 **15th - Decima Clear, D2. Stabbed in the back by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **14th - Isabella Thatcher, D8. Drowned in a pit trap after being speared by Cosima Byte.**

 **13th - Troy Arrowhead, D12. Speared by Shasta Evans.**

 **12th - Freya Clearwater, D4. Head bashed in by Confidence Best.**

 **11th - Shasta Evans, D9. Stabbed and beaten by clown mutts.**

 **10th - Dexter Guernsey, D10. Strangled by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **9th - Carlisle Talbot, D6. Throat slit by Clemence Aldrin**

 **8th - Merric Belgrave, D4. Clubbed with a mace by Confidence Best.**

* * *

 **District Placements:**

 **12th - District 11 - Best Placement: 17th**

 **11th - District 2 - Best Placement: 15th**

 **10th - District 8 - Best Placement: 14th**

 **9th - District 12 - Best Placement: 13th**

 **8th - District 9 - Best Placement: 11th**

 **7th - District 4 - Best Placement: 8th**


	37. Night Six - Queen Theatre

**Night Six  
** **Queen Theatre**

* * *

 _Queen Theatre: Electronic Roulette. 24 players can play Queen Theater at a time. The system is designed that 8 players can sit around the wheel while the rest place wagers from the theater._

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

It was the anthem that woke her up. Izzy rolled over groggily, confused at first. Confused by the fact that she was still alive, mostly. The last thing she remembered was passing out from the smoke after Dexter—

Dexter. Dexter was dead. She had killed him. She remembered that much, although she wished she hadn't. But maybe Merric was alive. _Someone_ had helped her get away from the fire – that much was obvious. The fire was gone, and she was definitely in a different place. She could see some sort of boat nearby, and…

And another tribute. Izzy froze, but the boy simply nodded a little. "Good. You're awake. Just in time, I guess." He gestured towards the sky as the first face appeared.

Merric. Izzy swallowed back a lump in her throat. Merric was dead. The boy from Six was next, then the boy from Nine. Then Dexter. Four tributes. Four tributes dead. She didn't remember the last two cannons, but maybe that wasn't too surprising.

Four more tributes dead. That meant seven of them were left. And the boy who was with her … He looked familiar. One of Dexter's old allies, she was pretty sure. "Wade, right?"

The boy nodded. "Yeah. And … Izzy?"

"That's right." She scooted a little closer, and the boy scooted a little farther away. "I'm not going to hurt you," Izzy insisted.

Wade nodded. "Sorry. I … I guess I'm just a little jumpy."

No. No, it wasn't that. Izzy scooted a little closer, and this time, the boy didn't move away. "What happened?" she asked quietly. "There was a fire – I remember that. Did you … did you save me?"

Wade shook his head. "No. I didn't save you. Not really. I mean, I just ran. That's all I did. Ran away. I just happened to bring you with me."

"How? I mean, no offense, but I don't think you really picked me up and carried me."

Wade chuckled a little. "No. No, there was a horse."

A horse. Maybe the same one that she'd ridden away from the clowns. The same one that had thrown her off beside Dexter. Maybe the same horse, or maybe a different one. It didn't matter. Either way, the Gamemakers had led her to a tribute, and _she_ had killed him. But Wade … he hadn't killed her. "Why save me instead of…?"

"Instead of letting you die?"

"Or just killing me," Izzy nodded. That was what she would have done. What she _had_ done. And worse, she'd done it to an ally.

"I was going to just leave you," Wade admitted. "To be honest, I thought you were dead until…" He trailed off, looking away.

"Until what?"

"I was rummaging through your stuff – your pockets. I didn't mean anything by it, honest. I thought you were dead, and I … I was looking for water. It was hot, you know – the fire and everything. I … I'm sorry."

Izzy shook her head. "I would have done the same thing." No. No, she would have done _worse._ But she didn't have to tell him that. Not right now. "So what happened?"

"I wasn't watching my back," Wade muttered. "Stupid. Wasn't paying enough attention. One of the Careers was nearby – the boy from One. He attacked me. Nearly killed me." He held up his right hand, which looked oddly bent even in the dark. "Did this, too." He gestured to his nose, also bent out of shape. "He was about to kill me when … your ally. The boy from Four. He stepped in. He saved me. Told me to get out of there. That's when the horse rode up, and … well, I ran."

Izzy looked away. Merric was dead. Merric was dead because he'd been trying to save them. To save her, even after she'd killed Dexter. And to save a boy they didn't even know. Izzy took a deep breath, brushing away a few tears. "It's not your fault. There's nothing you could have done."

Wade looked away. "That's the problem. He saved us, but … well, what sort of chance do either of us really have? I didn't see any weapons when I was rummaging through your pockets, and I lost my knife when the boy from One attacked. There's water over by the ship over there." He nodded towards the shape in the distance. "But all the trees look like they got burnt in the fire, so there's probably not much in the way of food."

Izzy put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll figure something out."

Wade looked up hopefully. "We?"

Izzy hesitated. The word had come out before she'd even really thought about it. There were only seven tributes left, including the two of them. Was now really the best time to be making new allies?

Izzy shook the thought from her head. Why not? After all, it was the least she could do. However he might feel about running away and leaving Merric to die, Wade had saved her life. If he'd wanted to kill her, he'd certainly had the chance to do so. Even if he wasn't armed, he could easily have strangled her in her sleep. Or he could simply have left her to die in the flames, or to be killed by the boy from One after he'd finished Merric off. So Izzy nodded, finally managing to smile a little. "Yes," she agreed. " _We_."

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

What was he thinking? Now wasn't the time to be making allies. There were only a handful of tributes left in the arena. But it was too late now. He'd asked, and she'd agreed. And maybe it was for the best. It wasn't as if he was going to win many fights on his own with his hands in the shape they were in. His right one had been badly crushed by the boy from One's mace. Better his hand than his head – that had been his logic at the time – but it hurt like hell. And his left was burnt from clinging onto the fiery horse's mane while they were riding. Until that healed, he could certainly use the help.

Right. Until the bones in his hand magically knit themselves back together. That wasn't going to happen anytime soon. In fact, it wasn't going to happen _at all_ unless he made it back to the Capitol. And that would only happen if he won. But in order to win, he would have to kill. And in order to kill, he would have to fight. But how was he supposed to fight like this?

One thing at a time. First, they needed to find food and water. Staying alive was a higher priority right now than figuring out how to fight and kill the other tributes. Maybe they could survive a while longer just by outlasting the others. He could worry about the fighting part later.

Later. Later, when his hands didn't hurt so much. Later, after they found food. Slowly, Wade got to his feet. "Where are you going?" Izzy asked.

Wade nodded towards the ship in the distance. "Water. You can come, if you like."

Izzy quickly scrambled to her feet and followed him. "Do you have anything to put it in, or…?"

Wade shook his head. "No. I did, but the boy from Nine stole my supplies a while ago. Well, last night. Seems like longer." It did. Everything seemed to be lasting longer in the arena. Until now, he'd considered that a good thing. But now, it only meant the pain would last longer.

"He's dead now," Izzy pointed out. "Maybe he left your supplies somewhere."

Wade shook his head. "If he did, they're probably burned up by now. There wasn't much, anyway. A couple water bottles. A blanket."

"Where'd you get a blanket?"

"Killed someone for it," Wade blurted out before he had a chance to think twice about what she might think of that. "The first night in the arena, when it was raining. I was cold and wet, and I just wanted…" He shook his head. "I just wanted somewhere safe and dry and warm." He chuckled a little. "Warm. Dry. Guess I got my wish eventually, huh?"

To his surprise, Izzy chuckled along with him. "Guess so."

"How about you. Have you…?"

"Killed anyone?" Izzy finished.

"Yeah."

Izzy nodded. "The girl from Two."

Wade's eyes grew wide. "Really? How'd you manage that?"

Izzy shook her head. "It wasn't an epic fight or anything. She had another tribute cornered, and I … I stabbed her in the back. Just like that. Saved my ally. But then…"

"Then what?"

There were tears in Izzy's eyes as she answered. "We were at the cornucopia – the three of us. Merric, Dexter, and me. We'd started a fire, and … Dexter, he put something in the fire. Something that made it … I don't know. Explode, sort of. But it didn't hurt anyone. Just scared me. I ran away – right into some clown mutts."

Wade winced sympathetically. "Ouch. How'd you get away?"

"They were chasing the girl from Ten, and I … I pretended to be one of them."

"One of the mutts?"

"Yeah."

"Clever."

Izzy shook her head. "That's what I thought. I thought it was so clever. But then they started tying the girl to the railroad tracks, and I … I went along with it. I left here. I just _left_ her there to die."

"She must have gotten away, then," Wade pointed out. "We didn't see her face earlier, after all."

"Yeah, but—"

"But nothing. You both survived. You both got away. Win-win."

"But I didn't _know_ that when I left her," Izzy insisted. "I thought … I thought she was going to die! And I was okay with that."

"Of course you were. That's _how the Games work_." He stopped for a moment, turning to Izzy. "Look, I met her – Alexia – our second day in the arena. I was sitting around by a pond, moping, beating myself up for having killed a kid the night before over a stupid _blanket_. She found me. Could've killed me. Instead, she … she told me to get off my ass and try to keep myself alive. And that's what I've been doing."

Izzy nodded a little. "Seems like it's worked so far."

Wade nodded. "Yeah. It's been working for you, too. So you almost killed somebody, because that's what you had to do in order to get away from the mutts." He shook his head as they reached the water. "You did what you had to do. So did I. End of story."

It wasn't, though – not quite. It wasn't the end of the story until somebody won. Wade bit back a cry of pain as he dipped his hands in the water. "Damn horse," he muttered, letting his burned left hand soak in the water for a while before cupping it and drinking as much as he could. Izzy did the same, chuckling a little. "What's so funny?" Wade asked.

"It … It's not funny. Not really. I just … I just wish I could've been awake for that – escaping through the smoke on a fiery horse."

Wade shook his head. "It wasn't as cool as it sounds. I'm sure I didn't look like the headless horseman or anything."

"The what?"

"The headless–– you've never heard of the headless horseman?"

Izzy shook her head. "No."

Wade stuck his hands back in the water. "Well, then sit back. Have I got a story for you."

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

"Do you think it's safe to leave?" Alexia asked. There were still smaller fires burning in the distance – mostly in the direction of the cornfield – but the worst of it seemed to have passed with the rain that had soaked the arena before the anthem.

"Leave and go where?" Cosima asked.

"I don't know," Alexia admitted. "But we can't stay here forever. We've got water, but no food. It looks like the fire got to the trees – and probably the corn field, too. Unless you've got some supplies hidden somewhere…"

Cosima shook her head. "My bag caught fire as I was running, so I took it off. If I'd been thinking, I might've just tried to put the fire out."

"With what?"

"I don't know. Didn't have much with me, anyway. I was planning on filling my bag with corn on the way out of the field, but…"

Alexia nodded. "So much for that plan, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think there would still be supplies at the cornucopia?" Alexia asked.

Cosima shrugged. "Only one way to know for sure, I suppose. Do you think it's safe?"

"Safe?" Alexia chuckled. "No. No, I don't think anywhere's going to be safe. But as far as whether or not there'll be any Careers there … I don't know. The girl from One was headed in that direction when I saw her, but there's no way to know whether she stayed there or just kept going. She had a big backpack full of supplies, though, so…"

"So she may not have stopped," Cosima finished.

"Exactly. Or even if she did, she might not have stayed there for long – not with the fire right on her tail."

"Was it? Right on her tail, I mean?"

Alexia shrugged. "Pretty close. That's why I decided to head back this way. The fire seemed to be moving in the other direction. Of course, that was quite a while ago. She could be anywhere by now. Any of them could. Well, the other five who are left, anyway."

The other five. Only seven of them left in the arena. Her, Cosima, and the girl from One, for starters. The boy from One, as well. Who else?

Not Dexter. His face had been one of the ones in the sky earlier. Cosima's district partner was already gone. Both the tributes from Two and Four were gone, too, leaving only the pair from One as far as Careers went. "Who else _is_ left?" she wondered out loud.

"Mostly younger ones, aside from the Careers," Cosima answered. "The boy from Five. The girls from Six and Seven. And the pair from One. And … well, that's it."

"Huh."

"What?"

"Just … not really what I expected. Aside from the Careers, we're probably the strongest group in the running right now. Not really the position I expected to be in."

Cosima chuckled a little. "Me, either."

Alexia raised an eyebrow. "But you volunteered, didn't you?"

Cosima nodded. "Yeah. So?"

"So why would you volunteer if you didn't expect to win?"

Cosima looked away. "You'll think it's stupid."

Alexia shrugged. "Look, as far as I'm concerned, _any_ reason for volunteering for the Games is stupid. So what've you got?"

"My parents. They … they would never let me _do_ anything. Well, anything interesting. There were always so many rules, so many things they were always telling me to be careful of. I didn't _want_ to spend the rest of my life like that."

Alexia raised an eyebrow. "So you decided you'd rather spend it running from clown mutts and wildfires?"

"I didn't know it was going to be like that!" Cosima answered defensively.

Alexia shook her head. "What did you _think_ it was going to be like?"

"I don't know. I … I guess I _wasn't_ really thinking. About the Games, anyway. I was thinking about how great it would be _after_ I won. If I won. If I win, I mean." She shook her head. "What about you? You can't tell me your life in Ten was perfect, that you never dreamed of doing something _better_."

Alexia shrugged. "Well, sure. I mean, of course I did. I just…"

"What?"

"Well, I just never thought of killing other kids as something that would be _better_."

For a moment, there was silence. Alexia said nothing, worried that she'd struck a nerve. But then Cosima simply shrugged. "I think you're right about heading back to the cornucopia. Even if one of the Careers is there, it's probably just one of them. One of them, two of us, right?"

Alexia nodded. "Right." _Two of us_. But it could only be 'us' for so long. Everyone else she'd teamed up with was either dead or gone. But maybe that was the _better_ scenario. Troy was already dead. Isabella was already dead. But that meant that _she_ wouldn't have to kill them. She just hoped she wouldn't have to kill Cosima, either.

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

They would just have to hope that there were still some supplies at the cornucopia – that they hadn't all burned up in the fire. If not, there was no knowing where there might be food left in the arena. Maybe just with the other tributes. Alexia had said the girl from One had a backpack of supplies. If those were the only supplies left…

No. No, that couldn't be the case. If everything else really _had_ burned up, surely the sponsors would have sent her _food_ instead of water. Lois had that much sense, at least. So that meant there was still food available somewhere. They would just have to find it.

 _They_. It was strange, really, how easy it was to get used to working with someone. Maybe Alexia wasn't the first person she would have picked, but out of the options that were left … Well, she was probably the best choice, even if she'd had a say in the matter. The others were either Careers or quite a bit younger. Not exactly great ally material. Except…

Except for the fact that all of them were still _alive_. Clemence was still alive, even after running away from her and Wade. Hell, _Wade_ was still alive. How he'd managed that, Cosima wasn't sure. But the fact that they were still alive at all meant that she couldn't write them off. She couldn't _just_ worry about the Careers and assume that everyone else wouldn't be a threat. Anyone who was still alive was dangerous, in their own way.

Even Alexia. She had an injured shoulder, yes, but other than that, she seemed to be doing pretty well. Of course, she was probably thinking the same thing about Cosima. They would make a good pair for now, but…

But nothing. More likely than not, they wouldn't get to the point where they had to kill each other. And even if they _did,_ it wouldn't be any different than having to kill Clemence or Wade. And she'd already killed once…

Cosima shook her head as the pair of them headed for the cornucopia. That was what was bothering her, really. "I didn't volunteer because I wanted to kill other kids, you know," she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Alexia turned. "What?"

"What you said before, about never thinking killing kids was something that would be _better_. I didn't volunteer because I wanted to _kill_ poeple."

Alexia shrugged. "I never said you did. But if you volunteered, that means that you at least _accepted_ that you would have to kill, whether you wanted to or not."

Cosima shook her head. "You don't understand."

"Maybe not," Alexia admitted. "Have you? Killed anyone, I mean?"

Cosima nodded. "One."

"Who was it?"

"The girl from Eight. The one with the broken leg. She fell into a trap that we'd set. But she … I mean, she wouldn't have lasted long, anyway. With her leg and all."

"Isabella."

"What?"

"Her name was Isabella. We were allies for a while. Fished together, cooked them around a fire. It was the … third night of the Games, I think. We were roasting our fish around the fire when the girl from One found us. Before she could attack us, though, the Gamemakers sent some owls after all of us. We split up, and I didn't see Isabella after that. So … she fell into your trap?"

Cosima nodded. "Would've died from the water filling the trap, anyway. So I threw my spear, and … well, you know the rest." It didn't sound so bad, when she put it like that. It sounded like what she had done was a merciful thing. But there had been nothing merciful about pinning the girl to the side of the pit, watching it fill with water. No wonder Clemence had run after that. No wonder she and Wade had gotten so drunk. "You're right," Cosima admitted quietly.

"About what?"

"It's not better – killing other kids. I mean, that's not really the part that I _thought_ was going to be better. I just wanted what would come after the Games. The freedom to do what I want, when I want to do it. And I thought … I _still_ think that would be better than what I would've had in District Three without the Games, but…"

But there were still seven of them left. Six other tributes who would have to die in order to make that a reality. Cosima looked away. If she wanted to make it back to that life – the life that she'd wanted so badly – then they would all have to die. _Alexia_ would have to die. She would probably have to kill some of them. The last time she'd killed someone, she'd barely been able to handle it. Would she really have the stomach to do it again?

Cosima took a deep breath as they drew closer to the cornucopia. She didn't have a choice. None of them did. If it came down to a choice between her life and the life of another tribute, she knew which one she would pick. Which one _any_ of them would pick. None of the allies she'd had would have sacrificed themselves to save her, and she wouldn't have expected them to. That wasn't what _anyone_ did in the Games.

Well, it wasn't what anyone with any sense did in the Games, anyway. Cosima slowed down a little as the cornucopia finally came into view. Alexia shook her head. "It doesn't look like anyone's home."

It didn't – at least not from a distance. But they couldn't count on that for long. Carefully, the two of them crept closer to the mouth of the cornucopia. "Damn," Alexia muttered, and it didn't take Cosima long to realize why. Inside the cornucopia, there was nothing but a pile of charred supplies and a lot of ashes.

Cosima shook her head. "Well, so much for that idea. What's plan B?"

Alexia thought for a moment. "Maybe we should just stay here until morning. There are still plenty of weapons here, even if there isn't any food."

That was true, at least. Anything wooden – clubs, spears, bows, and such – was probably gone, but the metal weapons were intact. Cosima stuffed a few knives in her pockets, then chose a couple daggers from the pile. Alexia did the same. That was something, at least. But weapons wouldn't help them for long unless they could find food.

* * *

 **Clemence Aldrin, 14  
** **District Six**

Clemence rolled over again, trying to find a more comfortable position, but she already knew it was pointless. The ground was soaking wet from the rain, but that wasn't really the problem. In fact, she was used to it by now. But the idea of falling asleep now – now that there were so few of them left – was more frightening than before.

She knew, of course, that worrying about it was pointless. If the Gamemakers wanted to send something after her, it probably wouldn't matter much whether she was asleep or awake. If someone found her now, she wasn't in much of a position to fight back. Sure, she had a sickle, but—

But nothing. She had a weapon. That was probably more than some of the other tributes could say. Maybe it wasn't much, but it was something. She was still alive. She was still alive, when seventeen other tributes were dead.

Maybe it was time to stop thinking of herself as an underdog.

Clemence sat up a little, not quite sure whether she liked that thought or not. She'd spent most of the Games assuming that the Capitolites thought of her as a long shot, at best. She was one of the younger tributes. She wasn't a Career. She didn't have any particular skills, and aside from getting a strangely high training score, she hadn't made much of a splash in the Capitol. But she was _alive_. That was something. And it was more than most of the others could say now.

Clemence took a deep breath. Okay. Okay, then. She was still alive. If she wanted to _stay_ that way, she was going to need a plan. And if she wasn't going to be able to sleep, anyway, then she might as well keep moving.

Slowly, she got to her feet and gathered up the supplies she'd taken, along with Carlisle's sickle. No. _Her_ sickle now. Carlisle was dead. She wasn't. It didn't seem fair, but that was they way it had turned out. And it wouldn't do her any good to keep wondering why she had gotten lucky when he…

Except it hadn't been about luck. The Gamemakers had sent the mutt that had injured him. Twice. Three times, if the clown mutts that had been watching when he'd tied her to the railroad tracks counted. Maybe he'd been right from the start about the Gamemakers having it in for him because he'd volunteered for Bertie's son. Maybe he'd never really had a chance at all. Maybe she was the one they'd wanted to see survive, after all.

She wasn't sure whether that made it better or worse.

Maybe it didn't matter, in the end. Whether or not this was how the Gamemakers had meant for things to turn out, this was how it was. She was alive. There were only seven of them left. Maybe she had a chance, after all…

Suddenly, Clemence saw something out of the corner of her eye. Or, at least, she was pretty sure it was real, and not just her imagination. It certainly looked like something was moving in the dark, off in the distance. And it looked like _more_ than one something. More than one tribute, or more than one mutt, she couldn't be sure. Either way, the safest thing to do was probably to head in the other direction. She had a weapon, yes, and that might be enough to take on one of the other tributes. Maybe even two, if she got lucky. Very lucky. But not three.

And there _did_ seem to be at least three distinct shapes. Clemence took a step backwards. That meant they probably weren't tributes at all. The chances of a group that large being left were slim. There were only two Careers left, after all, and they'd been the biggest group by far. Cosima, Wade, and the girls from Seven and Ten. Maybe Cosima and Wade were still together, but why would any of the others be with them?

Which meant it was probably a group of mutts. Not that that was any better. Slowly, as quietly as she could, Clemence crept in the other direction, hoping the mutts wouldn't see her. Which, of course, would only happen if the Gamemakers didn't _want_ them to see her. If they figured there had already been enough bloodshed for one day.

Suddenly, the mutts turned. Clemence immediately sprinted away as quickly as she could, but the clowns were already gaining ground. Clemence gasped for breath as she ran. Maybe the Gamemakers were just trying to drive her in a certain direction, away from the edge of the arena. Maybe they were trying to herd her towards another tribute.

Or maybe they simply wanted her dead. Clemence gripped her sickle tightly as the noise grew closer and closer behind her. They were going to catch her eventually. If she was going to die, maybe it was better to die fighting.

But she didn't _want_ to die at all.

Clemence turned, swinging the sickle, which sliced through a clown's arm. The clown didn't even hesitate. It swung its other arm, striking her shoulder. Clemence ducked beneath the next one's arm, but there were too many of them. There were too many…

 _Boom!_

Clemence jumped. A cannon. But it hadn't been hers. The noise echoed through the arena, and the clowns immediately came to a halt, dropping to the ground as if their batteries had all gone dead at the same time. What was going on?

Before she had much of a chance to wonder, however, a voice came booming through the arena. " _Attention, tributes!"_

* * *

 **Confidence Best, 16  
** **District One**

"There you are!"

Thalia looked up from where she was sitting by the duck pond as Confidence approached. "Where'd you think I was going to go? Water seemed like a sensible place to run when there was _fire_ in the arena."

Confidence smirked. "Maybe. But how many kills did _you_ get today?"

"None," Thalia admitted grudgingly. "You killed Merric, then?"

"How'd you know?"

"He's dead, and I didn't do it," Thalia reasoned. "I figured none of the other tributes who are left would've been able to take him out. He may have been soft, but he still had training. So unless the fire got him, I figured it was probably you."

Confidence nodded. "And you've just been sitting here the whole time, haven't you?"

"I found dinner," Thalia offered. "I still had enough supplies from the cornucopia to last a while, but I found a bush full of berries that didn't burn up, either. And since food didn't seem to be the first thing on _your_ mind, I'm glad I thought of it."

Confidence could feel his face growing red. Irritating as she was, she was right. He _hadn't_ been thinking about food. He'd been so focused on his fight with Merric, he hadn't gone back to his hiding place in the tunnel to retrieve the supplies, and then it had collapsed. So he _was_ pretty hungry. Confidence settled down beside her at the pond. "Save any for me?"

Thalia shrugged. "Sure. There's plenty. I doubt we'll run out of food for a few days, and considering there are only seven of us left…"

"The Games probably won't last much longer than that," Confidence finished.

No sooner had he spoken than a soft beeping sound filled the air, and a parachute came floating down, landing at Thalia's feet. Thalia rolled her eyes. "Thanks, I guess? Not like we really need anything."

Confidence shrugged. "Didn't really _need_ anything last time, but that explosive worked like a charm. Maybe it's another."

"Or just another signal to keep working together for a while," Thalia agreed. "Maybe that means another group survived."

Confidence shook his head. "I saw the boy from Five with the girl from Seven. They were with Merric, but they got away while I took him down."

Thalia scoffed. "They're both twelve. And the only others left are the girls from Three, Six, and Ten." She opened the package, revealing a coil of rope. "Okay, then. That's something I didn't think to grab. Maybe there's a reason we'll need it."

"Good enough for me," Confidence agreed, reaching for some of the berries Thalia offered him, along with some of the dried meat and one of the rolls she'd packed from the cornucopia's supplies. "I guess we'll find out soon enough."

"I guess we will," Thalia agreed as Confidence stuffed a few of the berries in his mouth. They were sweet – almost too sweet. Like the cotton candy or the candy apples they'd found before. Why was everything in the arena so sweet?

Oh.

 _Almost too sweet._

Confidence stopped himself before shoving a second handful of berries into his mouth, but he could already feel his limbs starting to tingle. Immediately, he turned to Thalia. "What did you _do_?"

But he already had a fairly good idea. Thalia took a step back as Confidence reached for his mace, but his hands were shaking too much to even grab it. "Why?" he demanded, his voice raspy.

Thalia's voice was cold as she replied. "Why _not_? Like you said, the Games probably won't last much longer. There are only seven of us left. Soon, it'll be six. Five tributes besides me, and only two of them are working together, and they're _twelve._ Face it, you were the biggest threat left."

"I didn't try to kill _you_."

"Well, then that was your mistake," Thalia answered coolly. "What did you _think_ was going to happen when it came down to only a few tributes?"

 _I thought I was going to win._ But the words wouldn't come out of his mouth. That was all he had thought. All he had _ever_ thought. He had assumed, from the start, that he would be the one coming out of the Games on top. That was what _had_ to happen. It was his…

His what? His dream? His destiny? Everything was growing fuzzy as he collapsed on the ground, staring up at the stars. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to win. He was supposed to…

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

 _Boom._

Thalia nodded, satisfied, as the sound of the cannon faded. "Guess I got a kill today, after all," she remarked, smirking at Confidence's dead body. He couldn't hear her now, of course, but the audience would love it. One more tribute down. And she was the only remaining Career. The strongest threat left in the arena. It was only a matter of time before she found the other tributes.

"Attention, tributes!" the voice of their host, Casca, broke her train of thought. Thalia leapt to her feet. She knew what this meant. "Attention, tributes!" the voice repeated. "Congratulations on reaching the final six! As a reward for your … persistence, there will be a feast held at dawn. The _location_ of this feast, however, will remain a secret until twenty minutes before the feast is prepared. Rest well, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

Thalia sank back into her seat by the duck pond as the voice faded into the night. She'd been ready to charge headlong into a fight, maybe wipe out a significant portion of the competition. Maybe even all of them. There were only six of them left, after all. If she could manage to kill two or three, they might even decide to start the finale, and that would be it. The end of the Games.

But now … The location was a secret. And it would _stay_ a secret until twenty minutes before dawn. What were the Gamemakers _thinking_? Unless enough of the tributes were already in the same area, it would take them more than twenty minutes to reach whatever location the Gamemakers decided to use for the feast. The tributes closer to it would have an obvious advantage.

Thalia tossed a rock into the pond. _Rest up_ , they had said. But it would probably be a better use of her time to start making her way towards wherever the feast was _likely_ to be. The pond she was at was near the southeastern corner of the arena. So unless they purposely chose somewhere near her, heading north and west would be a safe bet.

Unless they _did_ choose a location near her. Unless they were _trying_ to give her some sort of advantage. She didn't really _need_ another advantage, but she certainly wouldn't refuse one if it were offered. Thalia turned the rope the sponsors had sent over in her hands. What if they were trying to give her a clue?

But what _kind_ of clue? What would she need to use a rope for? For setting a trap? For climbing something? But a trap could be set _anywhere._ That wasn't much of a hint. And there wasn't much left to climb, now that the fire had scorched most of the trees. One of the Ferris wheels was still standing, but that would be easy enough to scramble up even without a rope.

 _Think_. What else could a rope be used for? If she had enough of it, maybe she could make a net. She _was_ near a pond, after all. But it wasn't as if she needed more food. She just had to be careful not to eat the poison berries she had given Confidence…

Thalia glanced over at the body. Had she acted too quickly? Maybe if Confidence was still alive, he would be able to help her figure out the riddle. They had figured out together, after all, what to do with the explosives the sponsors had sent, and that had turned out pretty well. Now…

No. No, she couldn't start second-guessing herself now. Confidence was dead. And it was probably his death that had prompted the Gamemakers' decision to hold a feast now. So the rope probably had nothing to do with it. Chances were, it was exactly what it had appeared to be at first – a gift showing the sponsors' approval and offering something that she'd forgotten to pack when she'd left the cornucopia. If it came in handy, all the better.

If not, there was nothing lost. She already had plenty of supplies. Even if she _didn't_ make it to the feast in time to wipe out most of the competition, she was still in a good position. She had four kills – and one of them had been her only _real_ remaining competition. A pair of twelve-year-olds, a fourteen-year-old, and the girls from Three and Ten – that was all the competition she had left. Maybe she could afford to do exactly what the Gamemakers had suggested – rest up and wait until morning to figure out her next move.

* * *

 **Welcome to the final six, everybody! And the feast is coming up next chapter. Keeping in the spirit of the rest of the Games, the location of the feast will be randomly decided. What I'm going to do is take the map of the arena, assign each of the landmarks a number, and then randomly generate a number. Simple enough.**

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.**

 **20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.**

 **19th - Stanley Newton, D3. Stabbed with a katana by Thalia Gold.**

 **18th - Cherry Thatch, D11. Stabbed with a spear by Decima Clear.**

 **17th - Garth Kain, D11. Stomach and throat sliced by Carlisle Talbot.**

 **16th - Emilia Rey Fumero, D12. Stabbed in the back by Wade Larthey.**

 **15th - Decima Clear, D2. Stabbed in the back by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **14th - Isabella Thatcher, D8. Drowned in a pit trap after being speared by Cosima Byte.**

 **13th - Troy Arrowhead, D12. Speared by Shasta Evans.**

 **12th - Freya Clearwater, D4. Head bashed in by Confidence Best.**

 **11th - Shasta Evans, D9. Stabbed and beaten by clown mutts.**

 **10th - Dexter Guernsey, D10. Strangled by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **9th - Carlisle Talbot, D6. Throat slit by Clemence Aldrin**

 **8th - Merric Belgrave, D4. Clubbed with a mace by Confidence Best.**

 **7th - Confidence Best, D1. Poisoned by Thalia Gold.**

 **And with that, there are no district pairs remaining.**

* * *

 **District Placements:**

 **12th - District 11 - Best Placement: 17th**

 **11th - District 2 - Best Placement: 15th**

 **10th - District 8 - Best Placement: 14th**

 **9th - District 12 - Best Placement: 13th**

 **8th - District 9 - Best Placement: 11th**

 **7th - District 4 - Best Placement: 8th**


	38. Feast: Break Even

**I'm alive!**

 **I apologize for the long break between updates. Real life got in the way. Mostly good stuff, just very _busy_ stuff. But I _am_ going to finish this. I'm too stubborn not to. So let's get on with the feast...**

* * *

 **Feast  
** **Break Even**

* * *

 _Break even: To attain a level of activity at which there is neither profit nor loss._

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

"Do you think this counts as dawn?" Cosima asked impatiently as the pair of them paced around the cornucopia. They'd spent some time taking alternating shifts during the night, but neither of them had actually gotten much sleep. Now the sky was starting to grow a little lighter, but whether it was actually light enough to count as 'dawn' was anybody's guess. In any case, there hadn't been any announcement about where the feast was going to be, so that probably meant it wasn't time yet.

Probably.

Unless they'd missed something. But what could they have missed? There hadn't been any announcement. And if there wasn't going to be – if there was some sort of sign instead – wouldn't the Gamemakers want to make it obvious where the feast was going to be? It wasn't as if they would want to keep it hidden. They _wanted_ people to come to the feast. They _wanted_ them to run into each other. Kill each other.

Didn't they?

Of course they did. That was the whole _point_ of a feast in the first place. They didn't have to have one. Some of the earlier Games hadn't, in fact. But it hadn't taken the Gamemakers long to figure out that it was a good way to drive the tributes together. Sure, there were only six of them left, but as long as even a few of them went to the feast, the audience would get what they wanted.

"Alexia!" Cosima called suddenly, and Alexia looked where she was pointing. The Ferris wheel in the distance was glowing brightly, its lights flashing a bright red and moving in a circular pattern as the wheel turned. "That must be where the feast is," Cosima reasoned. "I guess it _is_ dawn."

"Or near enough," Alexia agreed. "Still think we should go?"

Cosima nodded. "It's close enough. We can make it. Might even be the first group to get there, if we're lucky."

If they were lucky. If not – if someone else got there first – then what? But Alexia said nothing as the two of them set out. They had plenty of weapons that they'd taken from the cornucopia. She had a pair of daggers and a few knives tucked into her pockets. Cosima had a spear, a small hatchet hanging from her belt, and a few knives, as well. They were well-armed, yes, but they needed food. And now that the supplies at the cornucopia had burned up – along with a good portion of the arena – there was only one place they were certain to get it.

Besides, there were only six tributes left. There had been a cannon right before the announcement that there would be a feast, so they didn't know _exactly_ who was left, but at _most_ , there were two Careers, and the last she'd seen, they hadn't been together. Maybe the two of them would be able to handle one Career.

Maybe. If they got there and found there were two Careers, of course, they could always turn back. Look for food elsewhere. They had nothing to lose by going and _looking_ at the feast, seeing if anyone was already there.

Suddenly, the lights changed from a bright red to a flashing yellow. "What does that mean?" Cosima whispered. They were getting closer now, and they certainly didn't want to give their position away to anyone who might be listening.

Alexia shrugged. "Beats me." They were closer now. So close. But it was also getting lighter. The pair of them quickly ducked behind a tree, maybe a hundred yards away from the Ferris wheel. "See anyone?" Alexia asked.

Cosima peered into the distance. "I think … I think there's someone over there."

"Shit," Alexia hissed, and she could see the figure, too. It was one of the taller tributes, older, with long hair. That didn't leave many options.

In fact, it only left one.

"It's Thalia," Alexia whispered. "The girl from One."

"Do you see the boy?" Cosima asked.

Alexia shook her head. "Maybe he's hiding. Maybe he _wants_ us to think there's only one of them."

"Or maybe he's dead," Cosima offered hopefully. "Maybe that was his cannon. Or maybe they split up, and he decided not to come. Or maybe he _is_ coming, but he's hiding somewhere just like us. Or—"

Alexia sighed. "Okay. Got it. There's no way of knowing who else might be around. Even if he's dead, there are still three tributes unaccounted for." She shook her head. "So what do you think? Still want to go through with it?"

Cosima gave that some thought, but then nodded. "I have a plan."

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

At first, she thought maybe she'd misinterpreted the signals. The Ferris wheel was still glowing bright yellow and turning furiously, but there didn't seem to be any sign of supplies. Thalia drummed her fingers on her arm. It wasn't that she'd really _needed_ supplies – moreso that she'd wanted to keep the _other_ tributes from getting them. And she'd assumed the flashing lights meant this was where the feast was going to be.

Then she saw it – a large package floating down from the sky, towards the Ferris wheel. Then another. And another. One by one, as the wheel turned, they landed in the open seats. Thalia couldn't help a laugh. Brilliant! What a clever idea. The wheel seemed to be slowing down, the lights slowly fading from yellow to a fluorescent green. Once the wheel slowed down enough, she jumped into the car at the bottom and tore open the bag as the wheel turned, raising her car higher and higher.

Inside was a blanket, a hatchet, several knives, a loaf of bread, and some dried fruit. Thalia nodded, slung the bag over her back, and waited. The wheel rose higher. Higher. She was nearly at the top. Hopefully, from this angle, she would be able to see anyone who was approaching. Thalia peered over the edge of the car, craning her neck to look down at the ground below, careful not to jostle the car too much, lest she fall out.

And she _did_ see someone hurrying towards the Ferris wheel. One of the older girls. District Three, she was pretty sure. Thalia nearly leapt to her feet before remembering where she was. Oh. The girl approached the Ferris wheel, which had slowed down ever so slightly. She wasn't even halfway down when the girl reached into one of the other cars, snatched a bag, and immediately took off.

Great. Just great. Thalia slipped the bag off her shoulder. She would be faster if she left the supplies behind. Besides, she could always come back for them. And even if someone else took this specific bag, there were plenty of others to choose from. Right now, getting a kill was more important.

And the other girl had a head start.

Not enough of a head start, she hoped. Once she was within a safe distance, Thalia leapt to the ground and took off after the other girl. She could still see her in the distance, slowing down under the weight of the bag. The other girl glanced behind her, screamed, and threw the bag to the ground. She kept running. Faster. Faster. A smile danced on Thalia's face. This was what she had been born for. The thrill of the chase. Nothing could stop her now.

Suddenly, the other girl dove into the pond up ahead. Thalia chuckled. What good did she think that was going to do? She would have to come up for air eventually. She couldn't stay in the water forever. If she could even swim in the first place. The girl was from District Three, after all. How much of an opportunity would she have had to learn how to swim?

Thalia slowed down as she reached the edge of the pond. There was no sign of the other girl. The surface of the water was completely smooth. Thalia circled the pond. It was completely enclosed. There was no way she could have escaped, and she couldn't last long without coming up to breathe.

But there still hadn't been a cannon.

Thalia waded in a little, but she didn't want to go too far in. It was getting lighter out, but it was still too dark to get a good look at what might be under the water. The other girl could be lurking under the surface somewhere, waiting. But she couldn't wait forever. She _couldn't_. She had to come up to breathe.

It didn't make any sense.

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

"There haven't been any cannons yet," Izzy whispered. "Maybe it's safe to go."

Wade shook his head again. "No. All that means is that it took longer than the Gamemakers thought for the other tributes to _get_ to the location of the feast. They could have been on the other side of the arena."

Izzy paced impatiently. "In _that_ case, we should have gone earlier. We're probably the closest ones. We could have gone, gotten something, and made it back before the others even got there in the first place."

"Maybe," Wade admitted. "Maybe not. Maybe someone's there already and is just waiting for the others." Or maybe everyone else had made the same decision he and Izzy had – that it just wasn't worth the risk. Maybe everyone else was in bad shape, too.

Maybe. He could only hope that the others were just as exhausted as he was. But the boy from One – the one who had killed Merric as he'd ridden off with Izzy – he'd seemed perfectly healthy. And he was a _Career_. If he was still alive, he would be at the feast. It was expected. Practically required. Careers who didn't go to the feast usually fell out of the audience's favor, and they didn't last long after that.

He and Izzy were a different matter. They were both twelve. They were both unarmed. He was injured. No one would be expecting them to go to the feast. No one would be disappointed that they hadn't gone. If anyone _had_ been crazy enough to think about sponsoring them, this certainly wasn't going to be what made them reconsider.

Right. As if anyone would be sponsoring _them_. Wade leaned back against the rock he'd been using as a pillow. "Look, if you really want to go, I can't exactly stop you. But I'm staying put."

Izzy bit her lip, looking around. He'd put the ball back in her court, and she didn't like it. For all her talk, she didn't want to go _alone_. She knew she wouldn't stand a chance at the feast by herself – unless she was right about no one else being there at all. From the look of it, that wasn't a chance she was prepared to take. Not yet. Not while they still had water.

Water. That was pretty much the only thing they had going for them. Wade rolled over, wincing a little as his hand brushed against the ground. "Okay. Here's the deal. We wait until there's a cannon or two, then wait a couple hours for things to die down at the feast. _Then_ we can sneak closer and see what's what. There'll probably be plenty left for us, and not as much risk. Sound good?"

Izzy plopped down beside him. "Promise?"

"What?"

"Promise you won't back out on me? After everything's clear, you're really going to go?"

Wade hesitated. It wasn't a promise he wanted to make. And, really, he had no reason to. He didn't owe her anything. Quite the reverse, in fact. But she seemed to _need_ an answer. She wanted to know that he wasn't going to just abandon her, that he wasn't just stalling in order to convince her to stay now.

But he _was_ stalling to convince her to stay now. He had no idea when – or even if – there would be a cannon. No way of knowing how long after that it would be safe to go anywhere. Wade held back a yawn. He didn't want to promise _anything_. But he was tired. He wanted to go back to sleep. And he wanted to make sure that she wouldn't run off while he did…

"Okay," he agreed. "I promise. We wait for the cannons. Wait for things to settle. Then we go in. Deal?"

She clapped him on the shoulder. "Deal."

Wade tried not to wince. "All right. Now I'm going back to sleep."

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

Why couldn't she just _leave_ already? Cosima closed her eyes, then opened them again. The girl from One was still there, still standing by the shore. Cosima took another deep breath through the reed in her mouth. It was enough – enough to keep her from having to come to the surface to breathe. And to anyone on the shore, it would look just like the other reeds in the water. But how _long_ would it work? How long before it was light enough for the other girl to see her? Or how long before she decided to risk venturing into the water?

Cosima clenched her fists. This had been a _terrible_ idea. Her idea, of course. It had been her idea to distract the Career while Alexia collected some supplies. She just hoped her ally had gotten some good stuff. Maybe then all of this would be worth it.

Maybe.

But only if she survived.

Suddenly, she heard a noise in the distance – muffled by the water, but distinctly mechanical. The girl from One took off running – back in the direction of the Ferris wheel. Cosima waited. Counted to ten. Then waited a little longer. Finally, she poked her head out of the water, spitting out the reed and breathing in deeply.

She was still alive.

The Ferris wheel was turning, glowing bright red again. That was why the girl had left. Maybe she had put it together and figured out that Cosima had only been a distraction. That she'd never planned on being able to hold onto the supplies she'd grabbed. Maybe she'd realized there was someone back at the Ferris wheel, going through the supplies.

Well, hopefully Alexia wasn't still at the Ferris wheel. Hopefully, she was long gone by now. Cosima climbed out of the pond, sopping wet but grinning from ear to ear. It had worked. As long as Alexia had done her part, it had worked.

Cosima staggered back in the direction of the tent they had passed on their way from the cornucopia to the Ferris wheel. It was where they'd agreed to meet up, as long as they both survived. And since there hadn't been any cannons…

Sure enough, Alexia was waiting for her, peering out the tent flap and beaming. "What happened?"

"Didn't get as much of a head start as I thought I would," Cosima explained. "Had to hide in the pond until she went back to the Ferris wheel."

"I didn't know you could swim."

"I can't. Stayed in the shallows, used a reed to breathe." She glanced around the tent, where Alexia had spread the contents of several large bags. There was enough food to last them … well, the rest of the Games. And there were six envelopes off to the side, each with a label. _Thalia, Cosima, Wade, Clemence, Izzy, Alexia._

"Looks like it was the boy from One who didn't make it, then," Cosima observed, reaching for the envelope with her name on it. She opened it slowly, then removed a single piece of paper. A photo of her family. On the back was a message, written in her father's careful handwriting.

 _Cosima,  
_ _We're sorry. Please come back to us.  
_ _Please forgive us.  
_ _Please survive.  
_ _Please._

They had both signed it at the bottom. The paper was quickly growing damp, and it took Cosima a moment to realize that it wasn't just the pond water dripping on it. It was her tears. They wanted her back. Even after she'd defied them by volunteering for the Games. They just wanted her back. They just wanted her to survive. They just wanted her to come home. And, in that moment, that was all she wanted, too. She just wanted to go home.

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

There _still_ hadn't been any cannons. Izzy clenched her fists tightly as the Ferris wheel in the distance continued to turn. It had started flashing red again, then yellow, then back to green. But that was the only sound – the constant whirring of the wheel as it continued to turn. No cannons. No one had died.

Maybe no one else had gone. Maybe she'd been right all along. Izzy glanced over at Wade, who was still sleeping soundly. How he managed that, she wasn't sure, but it must be nearly noon now, and he was _still_ asleep. She could wake him, perhaps. Tell him he'd missed a cannon, that it was safe to go now. She'd promised to wait, after all, until there had been a cannon. She had just assumed that there _would_ be one. At _least_ one. It was a feast, after all, and there was at least one Career still alive.

But there had been nothing. Nothing at all. Slowly, Izzy got to her feet. If she woke Wade now, there would be another argument. He wouldn't want to go. Even if she lied and said there had been a cannon, he would figure it out eventually. Obviously, no one had thought the feast was actually worth going to. There were probably plenty of supplies left, just sitting there. All she had to do was go and take them. She could probably go and be back before he even woke up.

Probably.

She was in a better position to go, after all. Wade was injured. He was clearly exhausted. And she _owed_ him. He'd saved her life during the fire. She hadn't asked him to, of course, but that didn't matter. She was only alive because of him. Now he needed her help, even if he didn't want to ask for it.

Okay. Okay, she could do this. He probably wouldn't even notice that she was gone. Izzy took a deep breath, her mind made up. She could do this. She _would_ do this. "I'll be back soon," she whispered to Wade, and silently snuck off.

Slowly, Izzy crept closer and closer to the Ferris wheel. Just as she got close enough to get a better look, however, she stopped short. There was a girl there – the girl from One, sorting through the supplies. _So much for that idea._ Clearly, the lack of cannons was simply because no one else had been stupid enough to come to the feast when a Career would still clearly have the upper hand. Maybe she would still have time to sneak away before—

Just then, the girl turned. Izzy froze, but she already knew it wouldn't do any good. The Career had seen her. The only thing to do was run. Run and hope that the girl was alone, that her district partner wasn't lurking somewhere nearby, waiting to pounce on anyone stupid enough to come to the feast.

No. No, if that was the case, she would already be dead. Izzy turned and ran as quickly as she could. But not back towards Wade. No, if she was going to lead the Career anywhere, it would be away from her ally. Away from her friend.

Izzy gasped for breath as she ran. When had she started thinking of Wade as a friend? They barely knew each other. But it wasn't as if leading the girl back to him would do any good. It wasn't as if she could lure the Career into a trap where her ally would be waiting. Wade was just as unarmed as she was. In face, he was probably still asleep. No, there was no point in going back. Not now.

So she ran for the other ship – the one just south of the Ferris wheel. Maybe if she could make it inside, there would be something she could use to her advantage. If nothing else, it would probably be darker inside the ship. That counted for something, didn't it?

If she made it that far. The Career was gaining, but she was almost there. Almost. Almost.

* * *

 **Clemence Aldrin, 14  
** **District Six**

Clemence huddled on the deck of the ship as the sun crept higher in the sky. The Ferris wheel was still flashing in the distance. Green, yellow, red. Green, yellow, red. She wondered if any of the others had figured out what it meant. Green to tell the tributes it was time to go, red to warn them to stop. Yellow to let them know when the light was about to change from green to red. Just like the old traffic lights used to.

Not that knowing that had helped her much. She'd decided not to go to the feast as soon as she'd found several bags of potatoes hidden below decks on the ship. She had food, water, and a weapon – the sickle she had taken from Carlisle. There was nothing at the feast that was worth risking her life for. Not right now, at least. She could wait a little while for things to calm down. Wait until there was a cannon or two.

That was what she'd been telling herself, at least. But it had been at least an hour now, and there hadn't been a single cannon. Could it be no one had gone to the feast? Clemence leaned against the railing of the ship. If so, the Gamemakers – and the audience – certainly wouldn't be very happy. But they were probably more likely to take that displeasure out on any Careers that were left, and on the older, stronger tributes who would have stood a chance at the feast. No one would have been expecting _her_ to go to the feast.

Would they?

Clemence looked around as she took one of the potatoes from her pocket. Everything in the arena seemed to be burnt and charred. The ship had escaped the fire, but not much else had. The trees, the bushes, most of the tents – they'd all been burnt down, which meant she could see quite a long ways off. Certainly, she would be able to tell if anyone was coming.

Just then, she saw them – a pair of figures in the distance, running towards her. Or, at least, in her direction. They probably couldn't see her, peering over the edge of the ship. One of them seemed to be chasing the other. Clemence headed for the door that led belowdecks. As long as they were worried about catching each other, they probably wouldn't think twice about her, but it was better to be safe. Even if they came on board the ship, why would either of them look down here?

It was dark below decks. Clemence ducked into one of the larger barrels and pulled the lid on. Even if someone came down here, they wouldn't notice her.

Not until it was too late.

She was almost surprised by the thought. If someone _did_ come down here, she would certainly have the upper hand. She would be able to kill them quickly, maybe before they even knew what was happening. Part of her – a part that made the rest of her uncomfortable – was beginning to hope that the others _would_ be coming towards the ship, that they _would_ come down below decks.

Suddenly, she could hear footsteps. Quick ones. Someone was running on the deck of the ship. The door that led below decks creaked open, and light came pouring in through the cracks in the barrel. But only for a second. Then the door closed again, and the darkness returned. Clemence held her breath, waiting. Waiting for the right moment.

* * *

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.**

 **20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.**

 **19th - Stanley Newton, D3. Stabbed with a katana by Thalia Gold.**

 **18th - Cherry Thatch, D11. Stabbed with a spear by Decima Clear.**

 **17th - Garth Kain, D11. Stomach and throat sliced by Carlisle Talbot.**

 **16th - Emilia Rey Fumero, D12. Stabbed in the back by Wade Larthey.**

 **15th - Decima Clear, D2. Stabbed in the back by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **14th - Isabella Thatcher, D8. Drowned in a pit trap after being speared by Cosima Byte.**

 **13th - Troy Arrowhead, D12. Speared by Shasta Evans.**

 **12th - Freya Clearwater, D4. Head bashed in by Confidence Best.**

 **11th - Shasta Evans, D9. Stabbed and beaten by clown mutts.**

 **10th - Dexter Guernsey, D10. Strangled by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **9th - Carlisle Talbot, D6. Throat slit by Clemence Aldrin**

 **8th - Merric Belgrave, D4. Clubbed with a mace by Confidence Best.**

 **7th - Confidence Best, D1. Poisoned by Thalia Gold.**

 **And with that, there are no district pairs remaining.**

* * *

 **District Placements:**

 **12th - District 11 - Best Placement: 17th**

 **11th - District 2 - Best Placement: 15th**

 **10th - District 8 - Best Placement: 14th**

 **9th - District 12 - Best Placement: 13th**

 **8th - District 9 - Best Placement: 11th**

 **7th - District 4 - Best Placement: 8th**


	39. Day Seven: Counting Cards

**Day Seven  
** **Counting Cards**

* * *

 _Counting Cards: A strategy used to determine whether the next hand is likely to give a probable advantage to the player or to the dealer._

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

It was dark below decks. Thalia gripped her rapier tightly as she took one step forward into the dark. Then another, and another. The younger girl was down here somewhere. She was probably hiding, hoping that Thalia would simply give up and leave.

It wouldn't be the first time, after all. After staying by the lake for at least ten or fifteen minutes earlier, she'd decided to abandon her search for the girl from Three and head back to the Ferris wheel. But that was a mistake she wasn't about to repeat. A mistake she couldn't _afford_ to repeat. The audience didn't take kindly to Careers who let easy prey slip through their fingers, and it didn't get much easier than a little twelve-year-old girl. She wasn't about to mess this one up.

Suddenly, the door to the deck above slammed shut, plunging the room into complete darkness. Something struck her from behind. Something blunt, fortunately. Thalia whirled and grabbed something that felt like a piece of wood. Her leg stung where it had struck her, but nothing worse. Clearly, the girl didn't have an actual weapon.

Thalia lunged, swinging her rapier, but she had no way of knowing where her target was. Something sliced into her leg. So the girl _did_ have a weapon, after all. The cut wasn't deep, but she could tell it was bleeding. But that blow had come from a different direction. Almost as if…

Almost as if there were _two_ of them.

Then she heard a scream. A scream that gave away the position of at least one of the other tributes. Maybe both of them. Thalia turned, but she could still see nothing. But that probably meant the other tributes couldn't see, either. They were fighting blind – just like she was. And she had training.

Thalia clenched her teeth. None of her training had included how to fight other tributes in complete darkness. It was something none of them had considered. Why would the Gamemakers want them in darkness, anyway? How would the audience be able to see what was going on? What was the point? Unless…

Unless they were trying to give the other tributes an advantage. But why? Sure, maybe her performance at the feast had been less than impressive, but she still had four kills to her name. Probably more than any other tribute. Why would the Gamemakers want to give the advantage to someone else?

Suddenly, something wrapped around her legs. It took her a moment to realize that it was a pair of arms. Someone was trying to trip her. Thalia kicked, and her attacker let out a cry of pain that let her know she had aimed well. Thalia stabbed downward with her rapier, but apparently whoever was down there had had the sense to move out of the way. But their luck couldn't last forever.

* * *

 **Clemence Aldrin, 14  
** **District Six**

She wasn't sure how much longer she could expect her luck to last. When she'd planned to attack whoever ventured down below decks where she was hiding, she hadn't realized how dark it would be once the door was closed. She couldn't see a thing. All she could do was hold on tight and try to avoid the girl's weapon as it stabbed downward. She had to keep holding on. If she let go, then…

Then what? She would lose track of where the girl was, yes, but the reverse was also true. If she let go, then maybe she could get away. Maybe she could simply slip back into the shadows and hope the Career would go after the other girl who had run down here, the one who had been hiding somewhere, waiting for … what? For a chance to strike? A chance to sneak out? Clemence had no way of knowing, and, somehow, that was even worse than knowing exactly where the Career girl was.

Just then, something slammed into the pair of them – another body, charging at full speed. The other girl accomplished what Clemence hadn't been able to – pulling the Career to the ground. The three of them lay there for a moment, trying to get their bearings, each rolling over on top of the other, trying to figure out what had happened to their weapons.

She had lost her sickle; she knew what much. It had gone flying with the Career's first kick, and she had no idea where it might have ended up. Apparently, the Career had also lost her weapon, or else she would have used it by now. And the girl who had tackled them…

Clemence felt something on top of her. A body – but smaller, she was pretty sure, than the Career. But still heavy enough. She couldn't breathe. Instinctively, she threw a punch, and, in return, a weapon came plunging down. She didn't see it, but she felt it, deep in her stomach.

She wanted to scream. To cry. To yell in pain. But, to her surprise, all that came out was a laugh. A low chuckle, at first, but then louder. Louder. The weapon came out, and she could feel the blood, flowing out onto her clothes, her hands. Footsteps. She could hear footsteps, running away. "Damn it," the Career's voice muttered as the door leading above decks opened, then shut again. Quickly. Too quickly for her to catch up.

Everything was dark again, but, for a moment, she had glimpsed the Career's face. Her expression was almost … almost surprise. Clemence managed a few more wheezing laughs, but her own voice was so quiet now. Distant, almost. As if she was hearing someone else laugh, miles away, or maybe years ago. She wasn't even sure, really, what she was laughing at. But for a moment – just a moment – it had all seemed so … so funny.

But only for a moment. Briefly, the pain overwhelmed everything else. But then that, too, was gone. It passed. Everything passed.

Or maybe _she_ was passing. Maybe it didn't matter.

Maybe none of it mattered.

Maybe...

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

She still couldn't quite believe she'd made it out alive. Izzy glanced behind her as she ran, half-expecting to see the Career behind her, weapon in hand. But there was no one. Nothing. Just the sound of a cannon and the thudding of her own feet against the ground. She was still alive. She'd made it.

Izzy gasped for breath as she ran. Faster. Faster. She had to get away from the ship. Where, exactly, she wasn't sure. Back to Wade? But she had nothing to show for her trip to the feast. Nothing except almost getting herself killed.

Maybe back to the Ferris wheel, then. But that would probably be pushing her luck. That was exactly where the girl from One would expect her to go. Maybe that was why she hadn't started chasing her right away. Maybe she had assumed she would be able to catch up to her on the way to the Ferris wheel.

Izzy veered sharply to the left, away from the Ferris wheel. Away from Wade. Away from everywhere the girl from One might expect her to go. She could always head back in that direction later. Later, once she'd found some food. Maybe some supplies. Maybe there was still something back at the cornucopia. Maybe.

Maybe.

Right now, it was enough to just keep running. To put as much distance as she could between herself and the Career. And between herself and the other girl.

The girl she had killed.

She hadn't meant to. Not really. She had been trying to hit the girl from One. But it had been too dark. She hadn't realized who she had struck until it was too late. But maybe that was for the best, after all. Maybe it had been the surprise of realizing that she _hadn't_ been hit that had made the Career think twice about coming after her. Maybe she was confused about why Izzy hadn't attacked _her_. Maybe she was just annoyed that someone else had made a kill, rather than her.

Or maybe … maybe there wasn't a good reason at all. Maybe the girl was still sitting there in the dark inside the boat, wondering the same thing herself. Wondering why she hadn't given chase when she'd had the chance. Wondering why she'd frozen.

Izzy relaxed a little. That thought – the idea that maybe a Career was just as scared and confused as she was – made her smile. Whatever the reason for what had happened, the fact was that one more tribute was dead. There were only five of them. Only five tributes left in the entire arena. And she was one of them.

And the others … now she knew who most of the others were. Wade. The girl from One. And two others. Five tributes left. Only four more people – four more _tributes_ – who would have to die in order for her to make it home. She was so close now. So close. It almost felt … good.

Almost.

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

 _Boom!_

The cannon caught her by surprise, but maybe it shouldn't have. Cosima glanced over at Alexia, forcing a smile. "I guess someone else decided to go to the feast, after all."

Alexia shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe someone was already dying, and they finally ran out of time. Or maybe the Gamemakers got annoyed that no one died at the feast, and they released some mutts. Or maybe—"

"Point taken," Cosima agreed. "But at least we got plenty of supplies. And these." She ran her fingers over the letter from her parents once more. "Did you read yours?"

Alexia nodded, patting one of her pockets, but gave no more hints about what her own letter might have said. Cosima glanced at the other envelopes. "Do you think…"

"What?" Alexia asked.

"Well, maybe the other letters – to the other tributes – have some hint about what they might be doing next."

Alexia raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think that? Did yours have any clues about what might happen next?"

Cosima shook her head. "No, but … Well, aren't you curious?"

Alexia picked up one of the letters, turned it over in her hands, then set it down again. "Well, yeah, of course I'm curious. But these … they're private."

Cosima rolled her eyes. "Really?"

"What?"

"We're in the Hunger Games, fighting for our lives, and you're worried about invading someone's privacy."

"We're still…"

"Still what?"

"Still human," Alexia insisted. "Whatever's in here, it's from the other tributes' families. Their friends. Would you really want someone else reading yours?"

"Since when are the Hunger Games about what we want?"

Alexia shrugged. "Since you volunteered."

Cosima hesitated. She wasn't wrong. At the time, during the reaping, she had thought the Games were what she wanted. But now … now she just wanted her family. Her district. She wanted to live. She wanted to go back. And if there was _any_ chance that something in those other letters might help her do that…

As if she could tell that Cosima wasn't going to cave, Alexia took the other four letters and stuffed them in one of her pockets. "Let's just hang onto them for now. If we get desperate … if we really _need_ to see if there's something in there … then maybe we can look. But for right now … well, you have to admit we're not doing that bad without any help."

Even as she said it, however, she was cut off by a loud shriek and the sound of flapping wings overhead. "Run!" Alexia shouted as the stuffed-looking owls descended on them. Cosima wasn't exactly sure _why_ they should start running from what appeared to be harmless toys, but if there was one thing that was certain in the Games, it was that nothing was as harmless as it looked.

Sure enough, as she started to run, one of the owls struck with its talons, slicing into her shoulder. Cosima ran faster, and the owls seemed content to keep her running. They only dove closer when she started to slow down. It took Cosima a moment to realize why. She was still running, but Alexia was no longer by her side. Had she simply run in a different direction? Had she been too slow? But she hadn't heard a scream – or a cannon.

Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it was time for the pair of them to part ways, anyway. There were only five tributes left. Cosima kept running – back towards the cornucopia. Maybe this was all for the best. Maybe things were working out exactly the way they had to.

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

Maybe it had only been a matter of time. Alexia stopped to catch her breath as the owls finally gave up the chase. She and Cosima had obviously been two of the stronger tributes remaining. There was only one Career, assuming the cannon earlier hadn't belonged to the girl from One. Together, they were probably the strongest group in the arena.

Or, at least, the probably _had_ been. Maybe this was the Gamemakers' way of telling them it was time to split up. The owls certainly hadn't seemed interested in killing her, after all. And there hadn't been a cannon, which meant that Cosima was still alive somewhere, as well.

Alexia slowed, adjusting the sling around her arm, wincing in pain as the adrenaline finally began to wear off. Her arm had been bouncing back and forth as she ran, jolting her injured shoulder. It was a good thing the owls _hadn't_ wanted to kill them; she certainly wasn't in any position to fight them off.

Other than that, though, she was still in pretty good shape. She had half the supplies that she'd taken from the feast; Cosima had grabbed the other half. And she still had the other tributes' letters, tucked safely in her pocket. She wasn't sure, exactly, why that should be so important right now, but … well, it was. It was a little bit of home. A little bit of humanity. And that was something she wanted to hold onto as long as she could.

Alexia shook her head and set off again, heading for a large ship nearby that looked like it might be a good place to take shelter. It seemed as good a place as any, and certainly better than staying out in the open when there was probably still a Career somewhere – maybe even somewhere nearby. She had no way of knowing where the girl from One was. Maybe she'd even headed back for the Ferris wheel after deciding not to keep looking for Cosima at the pond.

As she neared the ship, however, Alexia stopped short. She could hear something – a sort of low moaning sound coming from close by. Slowly, she reached into her pocket and drew a knife. If there _was_ someone nearby, they could be trying to trick her. Fool her into thinking that they were hurt, only to attack her when she wasn't expecting it. She couldn't afford to let her guard down.

But at the same time, she couldn't afford not to investigate. If someone _was_ hurt, that could be an easy kill. That was something she couldn't afford to pass up – certainly not this late in the Games. Slowly, she took a few cautious steps towards the sound. Then a few more.

Then she saw him. The boy from Five, half-hidden behind a rock, groaning quietly in his sleep. Wade, she remembered. His name was Wade. It seemed so long ago that they'd met briefly, but it had only been … what? Five days? Six? He looked like hell, his clothes torn and tattered and burned, his nose out of joint, and his hands … His hands looked like they'd been completely crushed.

Silently, Alexia tucked the knife back into her pocket. She could do it, of course. She could kill him. Just like she could have killed him the second day of the Games, when she'd found him huddled by the lake, practically begging her to end it. But something had held her back then, and whatever it was, it kept her from striking now. Maybe it was pity. Or maybe … maybe she was just impressed. Seven days, and this kid was still alive. Only five tributes left, and _he_ was one of them. She certainly wouldn't have expected it.

Of course, most people were probably saying the same thing about her, with her injured shoulder and all. It was the same thing the audience always said when an outer-district tribute managed to make it this far. Maybe that was it – some sense of loyalty to another underdog. Alexia sat down beside the boy, shaking her head.

To her surprise, he mumbled something. "Izzy? Where have you been?" He rolled over a little, his eyes slowly blinking open.

As soon as he saw her, however, he backed away as quickly as he could, then cried out in pain, as scooting backwards had involved putting pressure on his hands. "Where's Izzy?" he demanded, his voice strained.

Alexia shook her head. "I don't know. I haven't seen her."

Wade seemed to relax a little as he realized she wasn't going to attack. "Alexia?"

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

It had taken a moment for him to pull the name from his memory, but from the look on the older girl's face, he'd gotten it right. She nodded. "Wade, right?"

"Right."

"It's been a while."

It certainly had. He hadn't seen her since they'd parted ways days ago. How many days? He wasn't really sure anymore. How long had he been asleep? Izzy had promised to wake him when a cannon went off so that they could go to the feast and see if there were any supplies left, but clearly she'd had second thoughts about that – or at least about bringing him along. "How long was I…" He started, but then realized Alexia would have no way of knowing how long he'd been asleep. "What day is it?"

Alexia chuckled a little. "How long were you out?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Wade admitted.

Alexia nodded. "It's the seventh day of the Games. Five of us left."

Five. So there _had_ been a cannon. And Izzy had decided to … what? Go without him? Come back with supplies? Or had she decided to leave him entirely? Wade's stomach churned as he realized he couldn't really blame her for not coming back. He was injured. He was a liability. Just another mouth to feed, especially now that there were so few of them left.

Then he saw the pack on Alexia's back. "You went to the feast?"

Alexia nodded. "There were two of us, so we figured … well, what the hell?"

"Two of you?" Wade glanced around, but there didn't seem to be anyone else. Had the cannon belonged to Alexia's ally?

"Cosima and I – the girl from Three. We were attacked by owls, and we got separated, but … well, that's probably a good thing. A bit late to be teaming up with anyone, really."

Wade said nothing. Why was she still here, then? If she wasn't going to help him, and she wasn't going to kill him … why stay?

Slowly, gingerly, she removed the backpack and opened it. Only then did he notice the sling around her arm. So she was injured, too. Carefully, she removed some gauze and bandages from the pack. "If you want, I can…" She trailed off, gesturing to his hands.

Wade glanced down. What good was bandaging his hands really going to do? Keep the burns from getting infected, maybe, if they weren't already. But by the time the infection would set in, anyway, the Games would probably be over. There were only five of them left. Why would she want to help him? Was it just a trick?

No. No, that was silly. If she'd wanted to kill him, she could have done it already. She could have killed him while he was sleeping without any trouble. Even once he'd woken up, he wouldn't have been able to put up much of a fight. So he nodded, scooting a little closer to her. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." She smiled a little. "Now, what is it I'm supposed to say? 'This might sting a little'?"

It was all Wade could do to keep from screaming as the gauze brushed against the burns. "A _little_?"

"Sorry," Alexia apologized quickly. "I've never actually done this before."

Wade winced. "It's fine. It'd probably hurt no matter what you did." He shook his head. "I guess that just means I'm still alive, right?"

Alexia hesitated a moment, then nodded her agreement. "I guess that goes for both of us."

* * *

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.**

 **20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.**

 **19th - Stanley Newton, D3. Stabbed with a katana by Thalia Gold.**

 **18th - Cherry Thatch, D11. Stabbed with a spear by Decima Clear.**

 **17th - Garth Kain, D11. Stomach and throat sliced by Carlisle Talbot.**

 **16th - Emilia Rey Fumero, D12. Stabbed in the back by Wade Larthey.**

 **15th - Decima Clear, D2. Stabbed in the back by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **14th - Isabella Thatcher, D8. Drowned in a pit trap after being speared by Cosima Byte.**

 **13th - Troy Arrowhead, D12. Speared by Shasta Evans.**

 **12th - Freya Clearwater, D4. Head bashed in by Confidence Best.**

 **11th - Shasta Evans, D9. Stabbed and beaten by clown mutts.**

 **10th - Dexter Guernsey, D10. Strangled by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **9th - Carlisle Talbot, D6. Throat slit by Clemence Aldrin**

 **8th - Merric Belgrave, D4. Clubbed with a mace by Confidence Best.**

 **7th - Confidence Best, D1. Poisoned by Thalia Gold.**

 **6th - Clemence Aldrin, D6. Stabbed by Izzy Thatcher.**

* * *

 **District Placements:**

 **12th - District 11 - Best Placement: 17th**

 **11th - District 2 - Best Placement: 15th**

 **10th - District 8 - Best Placement: 14th**

 **9th - District 12 - Best Placement: 13th**

 **8th - District 9 - Best Placement: 11th**

 **7th - District 4 - Best Placement: 8th**

 **6th - District 6 - Best Placement: 6th**


	40. Night Seven: Full House

**Night Seven  
** **Full House**

* * *

 _Full House: A hand containing both a three of a kind and a pair._

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

It was already growing dark by the time Thalia finally made her way back above decks. She stretched a little, her eyes adjusting to the dim light again. It had been so dark down there. But she couldn't stay below decks forever. She was getting hungry, and she had left her supplies back at the Ferris wheel. When she had chased after the girl from Seven earlier, she'd assumed that she wouldn't be gone long. She just hoped the supplies were still there…

Thalia shook her head. There had been _plenty_ of supplies from the feast. Enough for all of the tributes to take what they needed and still have enough left over for a week or two. Not that the Games were likely to last another week or two, of course, but even if every other tribute in the arena – all four of them – had found the supplies and taken their fill, there would still be plenty left for her. All she had to do was go back there and eat her fill.

Thalia stretched her legs as the Capitol anthem began to play. She already knew whose faces she was going to see, but Confidence's face was a welcome reminder that the past twenty-four hadn't been a complete disaster. She had killed him, after all. She was the only Career left. Sure, she'd let the girl from Three slip through her fingers. Yes, the girl from Seven had gotten lucky and taken off after killing the other girl. But she had still killed the only other Career in the arena. She was still a force to be reckoned with. She was still the tribute to beat.

Wasn't she?

Thalia shook the thought from her head as the only other face – the girl from Six – appeared in the sky. Of course she was. The other tributes had gotten lucky; that was all. And it was only a matter of time before their luck ran out.

Thalia smiled to herself as she made her way down from the ship and back towards the Ferris wheel. It was no longer glowing, but it was still easy to find, especially after the fire. It was by far the tallest thing in the arena still standing. Maybe it made sense, then, that the Gamemakers had chosen it to host the feast. It was something of a surprise, really, that more tributes hadn't figured it out.

Thalia twirled a knife in her hands. She hadn't figured it out. She had taken a guess, just like the rest of them. It just so happened that she had guessed right. And so had some of the others. And the rest … well, they had probably just decided against chancing it. The girl from Six had apparently been hiding in the ship. It had taken the girl from Seven a while to decide that it was worth coming to the feast. And the boy from Five had probably simply decided not to come – which was probably the right move for a twelve-year-old.

Thalia chuckled to herself. _Two_ twelve-year-olds were left. The boy from Five and the girl from Seven. That would just make it easier for her, really. There wasn't anyone left in the arena who was really a threat. It was just a matter of _finding_ them. Two twelve-year-olds and the girls from Three and Ten. The Games would be over before she knew it.

Finally, she reached the Ferris wheel. Sure enough, there were still plenty of supplies stacked in the cars, along with a few bags that she had unpacked earlier. Apparently, no one had come after she had left – or, if they had, they hadn't taken much. Maybe they figured they wouldn't _need_ much. Maybe they assumed, as she did, that the Games would be over soon.

So there was really no reason to ration the food. Thalia settled down and ate her fill, then packed a small bag full of food and a few medical supplies. Just as she was closing the bag, however, she heard a familiar pinging noise coming from above.

Thalia held back a laugh as the package landed next to her. She was grateful, of course, that the audience had apparently forgiven her for letting so many tributes elude her today. But the fact was that she didn't really _need_ anything right now. She had food. Supplies. More weapons than she would reasonably be able to carry. What could they possibly be sending her?

But it would be rude to ignore the gift – and rudeness towards the audience was something that she certainly couldn't afford. So she unwrapped the package eagerly, making a show of admiring the small hatchet before tucking it into her belt. A hatchet. Okay. At least it was something that wouldn't give her much more to carry. She shouldered the bag she'd packed, stuffed a few knives in her pocket, chose a dagger, and wiped off her rapier, ready to set out.

But set out where? Where would the other tributes be? The last place she'd seen the girl from Three was by the pond, but she hadn't been able to find her then. What were the chances that she would still be there? The girl from Seven had originally been coming from the direction of the other ship, but would she really have gone back there? No, probably not. And she had no idea at all where the other two might be.

Unless…

Unless the hatchet wasn't because the audience thought she was going to need it. What if it was supposed to be a hint. Hatchets. Wood. District Seven. Did that mean the girl from Seven was somewhere nearby? Thalia glanced around. Would she really be stupid enough to come back here?

Maybe. Maybe she assumed that it was the one place Thalia _wouldn't_ expect her to go – where she had run away from in the first place. Maybe she figured the best place to hide was in plain sight. Thalia set out for the nearest potential hiding place she saw – a nearby tree, charred by the fire but still standing. It was a place to start, at least.

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

At least they wouldn't starve to death any time soon. Wade leaned back against the ship as he and Alexia finished the last of their dinner. She'd taken more than she really needed during the feast, and seemed quite happy to share. They'd found an old wood stove below decks, and cooked some of the meat and vegetables into a passable stew. They'd ventured above decks to see the faces in the sky, but had decided it would probably be safer down here for a while.

"Who would've thought?" Wade muttered quietly, sipping a little of the stew from a bowl they'd found in what was apparently the ship's galley. His hands still hurt, but Alexia had bandaged them as well as she could, and at least he could hold onto the bowl.

Alexia looked up from her own meal. "Who would've thought what?"

"Only one Career left." He chuckled. "Wonder if he was the one before or after the feast."

"Before," Alexia answered without missing a beat.

Wade raised an eyebrow. "How do you know?"

Alexia hesitated a moment, but then pulled something out of her pocket. "These were at the feast. I took them. Didn't read them – just looked at the names." Even in the dim light, he could see that she was holding four envelopes. "One for each of the tributes," she explained. "Cosima, me, Thalia, Clemence, Izzy … and you." She handed him a small envelope, still perfectly sealed. "I was waiting for a good time to give it to you, but … well, I guess now is as good as any."

"What are they?" Wade asked, surprised.

Alexia shrugged. "Mine was a letter from my parents. Cosima didn't tell me what was in hers, but I'm guessing it was something similar."

Wade shook his head. "My parents? What would they have to say?" What had they ever said to him? _Pick up your stuff. Get out of bed. Clean up your things. Don't just sit there._ All they had ever wanted was for him to get up and _do_ things. Now … well, maybe they were just happy they'd finally gotten their wish.

"Only one way to find out," Alexia pointed out. "Do you want me to open it for you?"

Wade shook his head. "I can get it." But after a few moments of fumbling around with his bandaged hands, he thought better of it and handed the envelope to Alexia. She said nothing – just opened it, took out a few pieces of paper, and handed them to him.

They were drawings. Almost like the ones out of his comic books, except the person in them was … well, more familiar. Short and a bit chubby, wearing an assortment of outfits and capes – each with a bright red "W" on them. "You're our hero, Wade!" was scrawled on the front of one of them in his younger brother Wilson's sloppy handwriting. His older brothers had signed it, as well, as had his parents.

Wade shook his head slowly. "I'm not a hero."

Alexia adjusted her sling. "Who said you were?"

He showed her the picture. Alexia chuckled a little. "Not bad. Who's the artist?"

"My little brother, Wilson."

Alexia nodded. "I don't have any siblings. Never really wanted any. But now … if I don't make it back, my parents have no one. Yours…"

Wade looked away. If he didn't make it home, his parents still had four more sons. Maybe he wasn't all that special. Maybe he'd _never_ been all that special. He'd always thought he was. Always wanted to be. He'd wanted to be a hero, but he'd never wanted to work hard enough to actually _do_ anything about it. Now…

Now he would probably never get the chance. But if he did, he would get it right. "I _will_ be one," he muttered. "If I make it out of here, I'll _be_ a hero. The sort of hero they want me to be."

Alexia clapped him on the back. "That's the spirit."

Wade looked up, surprised. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you keep doing that? The first time we met, you could've killed me, but you helped me get food, instead. You told me to keep fighting. And now you helped me again. Fixed up my hands. Shared your food. _Why_?"

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

For a moment, she didn't answer. It was a reasonable question, after all, and it deserved an answer, but she didn't immediately have a good one. She had no real reason to help him. There were only five of them left, after all. He would have to die if she was going to make it home. That made him the competition. The _enemy_.

But he still didn't seem like the enemy. He just seemed like … well, like a _kid_. Alexia pulled her own letter from her pocket and handed it to Wade. In her mother's careful handwriting were six words: _You'll always be our little girl._

"Maybe you're not a hero," Alexia said slowly. "But I'm not a little girl, either. I'm not stupid or naive. I want to survive as much as you, as much as anyone else in the arena, but I know the odds. There are still five of us left, and one of them's still a Career. There's still a pretty good chance that I'm going to die. And if I do … I want this to be how people remember me. As one human being who cared about another, someone who took the time to help someone who needed it, even if … even if there wasn't anything in it for me. Not as a killer."

"Did you kill someone?"

Alexia shook her head. "No. No, I haven't. Not that I wouldn't, I mean. I just … well, I guess I just haven't gotten the chance."

But even as she said it, she knew that was nonsense. She'd had the chance to kill Wade twice now, and she hadn't. She hadn't killed, but she hadn't been _trying_ to. Not really. She'd been putting it off, telling herself that she would start later, that she just had to wait to make her move. But now she'd waited her way into the final five. How much farther could she make it in the Games without getting blood on her hands?

"I haven't, either – not since that first night," Wade said softly. "And now I…" He held up his hands helplessly. "I don't think I'm going to be winning many fights with these."

Alexia gave her shoulder a tap. "You and me both, kid." But the comparison felt a bit hollow. She still had one good arm. She could still fight. Wade, on the other hand … unless he found a weapon he didn't need his hands to use, he was done for.

But she didn't say so. She could keep that to herself for now. He knew how slim his chances were; there was no need to remind him of it. She'd done her best to patch him up, but there was nothing she could do about the rest. No medicine that would heal his broken bones in time for him to be able to fight anyone.

She kept trying to tell herself that it was better that way. Better for her. If he thought he might win a fight, he might very well have attacked _her_. Wouldn't he? Wasn't that what tributes were supposed to do?

But it wasn't what she had done.

"How'd that happen, anyway?" Wade asked, breaking the silence.

"The boy from One, the second night of the Games." It seemed like such a long time ago. It was hard to believe they'd only been in the arena for a week. It seemed like a lifetime.

Wade chuckled wryly. "I guess he was busy. He did this, too." He held up his hands and gave his nose a tweak. "But he's gone now. That's something, at least."

Yes. Yes, it was something. She'd managed to outlast the boy who'd injured her. Hell, she'd already outlasted all but one of the Careers. But that wasn't enough. Not until she was home. And there were still four more tributes who had to die in order for that to happen, including the boy in front of her.

But not tonight. He didn't have to die tonight. Alexia leaned back against the side of the ship. "Maybe we should try to get some sleep. I can take the first watch, if you want."

She expected him to object. To insist on staying up at least a little while. She expected him to be suspicious. Instead, Wade nodded a little, not bothering to hide a yawn. "Sounds like a plan. Wake me up when you get tired."

And that was it. He lay down, wincing a little as one of his hands brushed against the floor, and closed his eyes. Soon, his chest was rising and falling rhythmically, a hint of a smile on his face. He trusted her to keep watch while he was sleeping. What had she done to earn that trust?

Alexia stretched her good arm, yawning a little. She hadn't killed him. She had helped him. Maybe that was enough to earn his trust. But how long would the Gamemakers allow them to stay there together? They'd sent the owls to drive her away from Cosima. Maybe they figured the two of them would have made a stronger team. Maybe even strong enough to take on the other tributes.

Her and Wade, on the other hand … well, they probably wouldn't be winning any fights together, but they could keep watch for a little while. They could share their food and supplies. And he was good company – or, at least, better than no company at all. For now, that would have to be good enough.

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

It had been dark for hours when the train suddenly roared in the distance, startling Cosima out of her sleep. Well, she had _almost_ been asleep. Or, at least, her eyes had been closed. That counted for something. It had to. How was she supposed to sleep out here in the open when there were only a handful of tributes left? After a feast that had only brought one death, the audience would certainly be hungry for more. There was no telling what the Gamemakers might do next.

She'd been rather surprised when the owls had seemed content to drive her away from Alexia. They didn't seem to be steering her _towards_ anything in particular – just away from her ally. But maybe that was for the best. How long could she and Alexia have continued to work together, anyway, before one of them had decided the partnership had lasted long enough? Maybe it was better that they had split peacefully. That way, she wouldn't have to worry about killing her ally.

Not yet, at least. But the fact was that, of the four tributes besides her who were left, half of them had been her ally at one point or another. Cosima. Wade. Even Clemence, who had made it pretty far. Surprisingly far for such a young tribute. Then again, there were still two twelve-year-olds alive, so maybe age didn't count for as much as the audience always seemed to think it did.

Cosima's thoughts were interrupted as the train chugged to a stop beside her. Almost as if the Gamemakers were inviting her to get in. No. No, it wasn't an invitation. Not really. No more than the owls earlier had been an invitation. They meant for her to get in the train car, and if she didn't do it willingly, they were probably ready to send in some mutts to force her inside.

So she climbed in, instead. Almost immediately, the train lurched back to life, throwing her to the ground and almost out the door of the train. Cosima held on to a bar along the side of the train car, trying to catch her breath. Wherever the Gamemakers were taking her, they apparently wanted her there quickly.

Cosima clung tightly to the bar as the train roared down the tracks. She didn't even bother trying to get to her feet until the train started to slow down once more. Once it stopped, she glanced outside. There was a ship in the distance, but not much else. So that was probably where the Gamemakers wanted her.

All right, then. Cosima took a deep breath, gripping one of the daggers she'd taken from the cornucopia. If the Gamemakers wanted her inside the ship, there was probably someone waiting for her in there. Maybe more than one someone. She would have to be ready for anything.

Slowly, she made her way towards the ship. Once she was on deck, she glanced around. There didn't seem to be anyone, but that didn't mean much. Not in the dark. Not when there was a door leading below decks. If she was planning to settle down for the night, that was where she would go. Chances were, someone else had the same plan.

Cosima opened the door and made her way down into the darkness, bracing herself for an attack. But none came. There was nothing but darkness. Suddenly, her foot caught on something. Something soft. It was another tribute.

Cosima jumped back, but nothing happened. She took a step closer and knelt down to examine the body. There was no pulse. The tribute was dead, whoever they were. It was still too dark to make out much, but there was blood on the body – wet and sticky. What was the body still doing here?

 _Oh_. Cosima almost laughed as she realized. _That_ was why the Gamemakers had wanted her here. It was nothing more than an errand. For all their cleverness, they still needed to use the hovercrafts to retrieve the bodies from the arena. And a hovercraft wouldn't fit inside the ship.

As gently as she could, Cosima lifted the body and carried it up onto the deck. Finally, by the light of the moon, she could make out the features. It was Clemence, and the blood had come from a wound in her stomach. There was so much blood. At least that meant she had probably died quickly. It wouldn't have taken her long to bleed out. That was something, at least.

Cosima laid the younger girl's body gently on the deck of the ship, then headed back below decks. Whoever had killed Clemence was probably long gone, which probably meant this would be a safe place to stay for the night.

Probably.

Cosima shook the thought from her head as she settled down in the dark amid the barrels and crates. She was as safe here as she could hope to be anywhere. If there _was_ someone down here, they could certainly have attacked her by now. She'd been completely exposed while she was dragging Clemence's body up on deck. It would have been the perfect time to strike, but no one had.

Because there was no one. No one on the ship, at least. The Gamemakers hadn't brought her here to fight; they had brought her here so that they could retrieve a body. That was all. Cosima stretched her arms, yawning, as the sound of a hovercraft drew nearer. "You're welcome," she mumbled as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

Izzy woke to a soft pinging sound in the early morning light. _Morning_! Izzy leapt to her feet, startled. She must have dozed off. She hadn't meant to, but she'd just been so tired. Now the first rays of dawn were appearing, and a small package was descending from the sky. The parachute landed at her feet, and Izzy almost burst out laughing. She had fallen asleep, and the sponsors had sent her something.

To be fair, that probably wasn't _why_ they had sent her something. She'd made a kill the day before, after all, even if she hadn't entirely meant to. In fact, she'd made the only kill during the feast; the other one had come the night before. Maybe the sponsors were impressed enough to send her some food.

Sure enough, the package contained a few sticks of dried meat, as well as something she _wasn't_ expecting: a pair of night vision glasses. This time, Izzy _did_ start laughing. Had someone gotten their times mixed up? There was no point in sending her night vision glasses _now_. A few hours ago, maybe, but now?

Izzy shook her head and ate a little of the meat, then collected some water from the hill with logs nearby. The logs seemed to have been spared by the fire – probably because they were completely soaked with water. Izzy stretched a little. Okay. Water. Food. She still had the knife she had stabbed the girl from Six with. Maybe she wasn't in such a bad position, after all.

And there were only five of them left. Five tributes. The start of the eighth day of the Games. And she was still alive. A twelve-year-old from District Seven was still alive. Probably not what anyone had expected. Unless…

Unless they were starting to expect more. Maybe that had been the reason for the night vision glasses. They wouldn't do her any good at the moment, but maybe they were a message. Maybe this was Dolores' way of telling her that she expected her to last long enough to use them. That she would be able to make it through the day.

Izzy tucked the glasses in her pocket. "All right, then," she agreed, glancing up at the sky. "I'll put those to use tonight."

Tonight. That seemed so far away. She would have to make it through whatever the Gamemakers had planned for today. And after the way the feast had gone, they would almost certainly have _something_ special planned. There were only five of them left; they wouldn't let the Games drag on too much longer.

Would they?

Izzy reached into her pocket and pulled the glasses back out again, turning them over in her hands. She wasn't sure which to hope for – that the Games would be over quickly, or that they would last a while longer. The sooner the Games were over, of course, the sooner she might get to go home. But only if she _won_ , and there were still four tributes standing in her way. If she _didn't_ win…

If she didn't win, was it better for it to be over quickly? Or to hope for a few more days before the inevitable? The thing was, what had seemed inevitable before – her eventual death – no longer seemed quite so certain. She was still alive after a full week in the arena. She had outlasted nineteen tributes. And, really, she had done more than outlast them. She had killed _three_ tributes. Three. She had escaped the Careers more than once. Only one Career – the girl from One – was even alive, and Izzy had gotten away from her, too.

Izzy glanced down at the glasses once more. The sponsors had sent a pair to Merric on the second night of the Games so that the two of them could find Dexter. But Dexter was gone. Merric was gone. Ichabod and Garth, her allies during training, were both dead. Wade … Wade was still alive, but it was only a matter of time before someone found him. He certainly wasn't in any condition to put up much of a fight.

And the other three – the three older girls – there was no telling how they were faring. The girl from One had seemed to be in pretty good shape, but something had stopped her from coming after Izzy after she'd killed the girl from Six on the ship. Could it be she was actually hurt? Maybe. Maybe, but she couldn't count on getting that lucky.

The other two were a mystery, as well. The girl from Three and the girl from Ten. Alexia. She remembered her name from a few nights ago, when they'd sat around their little campfire singing songs. The other two who had been there – Troy and Isabella – were gone, as well. Izzy shook her head. They were dead. And Alexia would have to die, too. And Wade. All four of the other tributes would have to die if she wanted to go home.

She would have to get lucky. Very lucky. But as she tucked the night vision glasses snugly into her pocket once more, Izzy couldn't help but smile. Luck had been on her side so far. It just had to last a little longer.

* * *

 **No deaths this chapter, so things stand exactly as they did:**

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.**

 **20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.**

 **19th - Stanley Newton, D3. Stabbed with a katana by Thalia Gold.**

 **18th - Cherry Thatch, D11. Stabbed with a spear by Decima Clear.**

 **17th - Garth Kain, D11. Stomach and throat sliced by Carlisle Talbot.**

 **16th - Emilia Rey Fumero, D12. Stabbed in the back by Wade Larthey.**

 **15th - Decima Clear, D2. Stabbed in the back by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **14th - Isabella Thatcher, D8. Drowned in a pit trap after being speared by Cosima Byte.**

 **13th - Troy Arrowhead, D12. Speared by Shasta Evans.**

 **12th - Freya Clearwater, D4. Head bashed in by Confidence Best.**

 **11th - Shasta Evans, D9. Stabbed and beaten by clown mutts.**

 **10th - Dexter Guernsey, D10. Strangled by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **9th - Carlisle Talbot, D6. Throat slit by Clemence Aldrin**

 **8th - Merric Belgrave, D4. Clubbed with a mace by Confidence Best.**

 **7th - Confidence Best, D1. Poisoned by Thalia Gold.**

 **6th - Clemence Aldrin, D6. Stabbed by Izzy Thatcher.**

* * *

 **District Placements:**

 **12th - District 11 - Best Placement: 17th**

 **11th - District 2 - Best Placement: 15th**

 **10th - District 8 - Best Placement: 14th**

 **9th - District 12 - Best Placement: 13th**

 **8th - District 9 - Best Placement: 11th**

 **7th - District 4 - Best Placement: 8th**

 **6th - District 6 - Best Placement: 6th**


	41. Day Eight: Flush

**Day Eight  
** **Flush**

* * *

 _Flush: Five cards of the same suit regardless of order._

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

The sun was peeking over the edge of the horizon by the time she finally set out away from the area surrounding the Ferris wheel. Thalia shook her head. If the hatchet was supposed to have been a hint, someone had been off by quite a lot. There were no tributes in the area – or, if there were, they were hidden well _and_ stupid. She'd dozed off for a few hours a while ago, which would have been the perfect time for another tribute to strike.

But no one had. So the sponsors had been wrong. Or maybe it hadn't been intended as a hint. Maybe it was simpler than that. Maybe it was simply a show of support, a sign that they'd forgiven her for letting the girls from Three and Seven slip through her fingers during the feast. At the very least, the Gamemakers had seemed content to let her sleep through the night, which was a welcome surprise.

But she knew that couldn't last forever. Eventually, the audience would grow restless, and the Gamemakers would be forced to intervene. Thalia stretched her arms. She would be more than happy to give them what they wanted, but it would be nice to have _some_ idea of which way to go. If she simply struck out blindly, the chances of her actually finding someone were slim.

But no more packages seemed to be forthcoming, so Thalia packed up her supplies and set out, leaving the rest of the supplies from the feast in the cars of the Ferris wheel. It seemed ridiculous to leave that many supplies just sitting there, but there didn't seem to be a good alternative. Thalia shrugged and set out.

It wasn't long before she reached the pond – the pond where she had lost the girl from Three. It had seemed like as good a place as any to start. Any of the tributes who were left, after all, would need a source of water. But there didn't seem to be anyone around. Thalia sighed and moved on. A hint would be nice right about now, but maybe the sponsors figured they had done enough for a while.

Or maybe Artemis was saving the assistance for when she would _really_ need it. Aside from a hint about the other tributes' whereabouts, she wasn't really in need of anything. She had plenty of supplies. The same, of course, had been true the night before when they'd sent the hatchet. Maybe the Gamemakers would decide to intervene soon…

Thalia chuckled at the thought. She'd never thought she would find herself _hoping_ for the Gamemakers to step in and do something. But they _had_ to be considering it by now. There were only five of them left. How long were they really going to let this go on before they started driving tributes together?

Eight days. That was how long the Games had lasted so far. There had been longer ones, of course. But once the tributes were whittled down this far, it usually didn't take long for them to bring it to an end. With any luck, she wouldn't have to wait too long.

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

Cosima woke to the sound of a train whistle and a rumbling that was coming closer and closer. Slowly, she made her way up on deck in time to see the train chugging to a stop nearby. "Again?" she muttered, but got no response. She didn't need one. It was clear what the Gamemakers wanted, but just as clear that they weren't simply sending her to clean up another body this time. Clemence's body had been removed from the deck of the ship, and there hadn't been any cannons since the night before. Not unless she'd slept through them. No, they weren't sending her to clean up this time. They were sending her to fight.

But maybe that was a better idea than just waiting around for someone to find her. If she got on the train now and the Gamemakers brought her somewhere, at least she'd have the element of surprise. The other tributes probably wouldn't be expecting a train to drop someone off right at their doorstep.

Cosima climbed into the train car, and the train started chugging down the tracks. But it didn't get very far before it sputtered to a stop. For a moment, Cosima thought that maybe it had broken down, but when she peeked out of the door, she could see why the train had stopped. There was another ship not too far away – and, on deck, a figure, staring down at her.

Cosima leapt out of the train, clutching her dagger tightly. So much for the element of surprise. But instead of waiting for her to come to them, the tribute climbed down from the ship. It took Cosima a moment to realize who it was. It was Alexia, holding a spear in her good hand, looking ready to … what? Throw it? Would she really do that?

"Get out of here!" Alexia shouted, and hurled the spear in Cosima's direction. The spear fell short of its target, but it was enough to convince Cosima that she was serious. Cosima took off running in the opposite direction, across the tracks and back towards the cornucopia. After a moment, she risked a glance behind her. Alexia was still following, but the distance between them was growing.

Cosima clutched her dagger tightly as she ran. What was she _thinking_? She probably wouldn't get a better chance to fight Alexia. But the simple fact was that she didn't _want_ to. Part of her had been expecting the Gamemakers to stop her from running away, to send some mutts to force the two to fight. But they hadn't. And if they didn't _have_ to fight…

Then running away was a perfectly fine option. And at least now she knew where Alexia was. Well, as long as Alexia decided to turn around and head back to the ship once she'd given up the chase. It probably wouldn't take long for her to figure out that she wasn't going to catch her. She just had to keep running a little longer.

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

She'd never really meant to catch her, anyway. What was she going to do if she did? Fight her ally? Her friend? Maybe she and Cosima hadn't been close, but they'd worked together long enough to make Alexia think twice about wanting to fight her.

But she'd had to do _something_. The Gamemakers wouldn't let the three of them team up, after all – not this late in the Games. And they'd already driven the two of them apart once. No, her best bet right now was to stay with Wade. Well, to get _back_ to Wade. Alexia kept running a little longer – just long enough to convince the audience that she was serious. Enough, maybe, to keep the Gamemakers from realizing that she had never intended to harm Cosima.

The spear had been for show, too. But it had apparently been enough to convince Cosima that she was serious. Unless Cosima was pretending, too. She could have stayed and fought, after all. Throwing her spear had left Alexia without a weapon, aside from the knives in her pocket, which Cosima had no way of knowing she still had. But instead of fighting, Cosima had run. Maybe she didn't want a fight any more than Alexia did.

Alexia finally slowed to a stop, panting a little for show as she bent over to catch her breath. After a moment, she shook her head, then turned and headed back for the ship. She'd been worried that maybe some mutts would appear to make sure she kept going in the right direction, but nothing happened. She made it back to the ship without incident.

Wade was awake by the time she arrived. "Where'd you go?" he asked as he rose carefully to his feet, careful not to put any pressure on his hands.

"One of the other tributes found us, but I scared her away," Alexia answered, as if it wasn't that big of a deal at all.

Wade's eyes widened. "Which one?"

"The girl from Three."

"Cosima?"

Alexia raised an eyebrow. "You know her?"

"We were working together for a while."

Alexia chuckled. "Funny. So were we. Small arena, huh?"

"I guess so," Wade agreed. "Did you meet Izzy?"

Alexia nodded. "Briefly, the third night of the Games. We had a little campfire together." She shook her head. "I guess that just leaves the girl from One … who I'm guessing none of the rest of us were working with."

Wade's face grew a little red. "Actually…"

"What?"

"The second night of the Games, I … I was looking for somewhere warm to sleep. Found a shelter over by the pond, and a tribute huddled up there. It was so dark, I didn't look to see who it was. Didn't realize til morning it was the girl from One. Boy, was she mad!"

Alexia stared. "How did you get away?"

"I convinced her and her district partner that I knew where some of the other tributes were. Led them to a tent, and, lucky for me, there _were_ some tributes there. I got away while they were fighting."

Alexia shook her head. "Lucky you."

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

Lucky. Right. Wade glanced down at his hands, still bandaged at his sides. Maybe he'd gotten lucky, but not lucky enough. And luck wouldn't keep him alive if any of the other tributes found him. Well, any of the other tributes who actually _wanted_ to kill him.

But _would_ the other tributes want to kill him? Certainly Izzy wouldn't. He'd saved her life, after all. Cosima might. She'd already killed one girl. But that had been days ago. Had she killed anyone since? There was no way of knowing. Maybe he could ask Alexia, but all she would be able to tell him was whether Cosima had killed anyone while they were together. And it didn't sound like they'd been working together long.

Then again, _he_ hadn't been working with Alexia for long. And he hadn't been working with Izzy for long, or Cosima and Clemence, or Dexter and Emerson. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe it meant that he hadn't gotten attached.

Suddenly, a soft dinging noise interrupted his thoughts. It was coming from above decks. "A parachute?" Alexia asked skeptically. "For us?"

"I guess so," Wade shrugged. "Unless there's someone else here." But if there was someone else nearby, surely Alexia would have seen them while she was chasing after Cosima. Together, the two of them headed above decks. Sure enough, a package had landed on the deck of the ship.

Alexia picked it up. "I think it's for you."

"What makes you think that?"

She turned the package so he could see the letter "W" on the side. Apparently, his full name had been too long to fit on the package. It was rather small, and made a soft rattling noise as Alexia turned it over in her hands. "I can open it if you—"

Wade didn't bother arguing this time. He simply nodded, and Alexia opened the package. Inside was a small bottle of pills. Wade eyed them skeptically. "Do you think they're safe?"

Alexia shrugged. "Why wouldn't they be? The sponsors sent them."

Wade shook his head. "Yeah, but _why_? I haven't done anything."

Alexia chuckled. "You're still alive, Wade. Isn't that good enough?"

"You're still alive, too. Why didn't they send _you_ something?"

"Maybe they figured you need it more." She shook her head. "Look, if you're not convinced they're safe, I can go first. It's probably for the pain – from your hands. I certainly wouldn't say no if they'd help my shoulder, too."

Wade considered that for a moment, then held out his hand. "Let's each take one."

Alexia nodded. "Deal." She opened the bottle, removed two of the pills, and handed one to Wade. "Bottoms up."

Wade took the pill, washing it down with a drink of water from one of their bottles. Almost immediately, the pain in his hands began to fade. Wade looked up at Alexia, who was grinning. "You, too?" she asked.

Wade nodded, then cautiously moved his fingers. Pain shot through his hands, but not as bad as before. And when he _didn't_ move them, the pain was almost gone. Almost. It was still there in the background, throbbing, but it wasn't as sharp as it had been. That was something. And maybe – just maybe – it would be enough to give him a chance.

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

Maybe she was going crazy. That was the only explanation Izzy had, really, for why she had come back to the Ferris wheel. The Career girl would almost certainly be somewhere nearby. But she was getting hungry, and she probably wasn't going to get a better chance.

Besides, maybe the girl from One wasn't even there. Izzy crept closer and closer to the Ferris wheel. She didn't see anyone there, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. If the girl from One _was_ there, she would probably be hiding. Waiting. Waiting for someone to come to her. But, somehow, that didn't really seem like a good strategy for a Career. If _she_ was a Career, she would want to be out hunting, looking for the other tributes. There were only a few of them left, after all; surely a Career would want to end the Games as quickly as possible.

Izzy chuckled a little at the thought. Maybe she'd picked up a thing or two from Merric, after all. She took one step closer, then another. Nothing. No one. The last time she had tried to sneak up on the girl from One, she'd given chase almost immediately after seeing her. Maybe she wasn't around after all. Maybe she'd gotten lucky.

Or maybe it was more than just luck. Maybe this really _was_ the safest place to be right now. It was the last place any Career would expect. She would probably expect the rest of them to be running. Hiding. Getting as far away as possible from the biggest threat in the arena.

Izzy made her way over to the Ferris wheel and chose a bag from the bottom car. Sure enough, it was full of food. Izzy grinned, settled down inside the car, and began to eat her fill. Halfway through a loaf of bread, something caught her eye – something shining on the ground. A locket. What was a locket doing here?

Izzy froze. Dexter had said that the girl from One had a locket – a locket that had brushed up against his wound during the bloodbath. That was why he had gone back to the cornucopia – to get the antidote to the poison the locket had been coated with. If the locket was here, it had to mean that the girl from One was close.

Unless…

Unless it had simply fallen off. Izzy turned the locket over in her hands, careful not to let it scrape against her. She couldn't take any chances – not now that she was so close. But somewhere in the back of her mind, an idea was forming. Izzy glanced around at the food, then back at the locket.

It was a ridiculous idea. Completely absurd. But for the last week, 'completely absurd' had seemed like par for the course. Why should her plan be anything else? Maybe she was starting to get used to this place.

That thought scared her more than she wanted to admit.

Izzy shook her head. If nothing else, it was worth a try. If her idea worked, she would be one step closer to going home. And if it failed … well, what would she really have lost? Izzy slipped the locket into her pocket and started digging through the rest of the supplies, searching for anything that would serve her purpose. Everything would have to be just right.

* * *

 **No deaths this chapter, either.** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 **I promise tributes will start dying again soon. ;)**

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.**

 **20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.**

 **19th - Stanley Newton, D3. Stabbed with a katana by Thalia Gold.**

 **18th - Cherry Thatch, D11. Stabbed with a spear by Decima Clear.**

 **17th - Garth Kain, D11. Stomach and throat sliced by Carlisle Talbot.**

 **16th - Emilia Rey Fumero, D12. Stabbed in the back by Wade Larthey.**

 **15th - Decima Clear, D2. Stabbed in the back by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **14th - Isabella Thatcher, D8. Drowned in a pit trap after being speared by Cosima Byte.**

 **13th - Troy Arrowhead, D12. Speared by Shasta Evans.**

 **12th - Freya Clearwater, D4. Head bashed in by Confidence Best.**

 **11th - Shasta Evans, D9. Stabbed and beaten by clown mutts.**

 **10th - Dexter Guernsey, D10. Strangled by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **9th - Carlisle Talbot, D6. Throat slit by Clemence Aldrin**

 **8th - Merric Belgrave, D4. Clubbed with a mace by Confidence Best.**

 **7th - Confidence Best, D1. Poisoned by Thalia Gold.**

 **6th - Clemence Aldrin, D6. Stabbed by Izzy Thatcher.**

* * *

 **District Placements:**

 **12th - District 11 - Best Placement: 17th**

 **11th - District 2 - Best Placement: 15th**

 **10th - District 8 - Best Placement: 14th**

 **9th - District 12 - Best Placement: 13th**

 **8th - District 9 - Best Placement: 11th**

 **7th - District 4 - Best Placement: 8th**

 **6th - District 6 - Best Placement: 6th**


	42. Night Eight: Jackpot

**Night Eight  
** **Jackpot**

* * *

 _Jackpot: A large prize in a game or lottery._

* * *

 **Thalia Gold, 17  
** **District One**

Nothing. A fat load of nothing – that was what she'd found. Thalia shook her head in frustration as the Capitol anthem began to play. There were no faces in the sky. No cannons during the day. No deaths. She'd spent the entire day searching for the other tributes, all for nothing. What was she supposed to do now?

Thalia sighed as the last notes of the anthem faded into the night. She might as well head back to the Ferris wheel. Maybe it wasn't the best plan, but she didn't have any better ideas, and she was getting tired. Maybe she just needed some sleep. Needed to clear her head. Maybe in the morning, she would be able to come up with a better plan.

It certainly seemed like a better idea than stumbling around in the dark for hours. Thalia gave a rock a kick as she neared the Ferris wheel. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. She wasn't supposed to be waiting around, trying to come up with a better plan. She was a _Career_. She should be hunting. But the simple fact was, she had no idea where to look.

Usually, the Gamemakers would have intervened by now. They would have started driving tributes together. So why hadn't they?

What were they waiting for?

Thalia settled down beside the Ferris wheel and opened her pack. Just then, there was a soft beeping noise from above, and something floated down into her lap. Another parachute. _Really?_ Thalia fought back the urge to hurl the parachute as far as she could into the darkness. Why couldn't they send something _useful_?

All the same, antagonizing the sponsors would be a bad idea – especially this late in the Games. So she carefully opened the package. Sure enough, there was a loaf of bread inside, as well as a pair of night vision glasses. Finally, something that might be useful. "Thanks," Thalia muttered, slipping the glasses on. They seemed a little small, but she wasn't exactly in a position to be choosy. If they were going to help her find another tribute, they would do just fine.

Thalia turned the loaf of bread over in her hands before taking a large bite, trying to make sure the audience knew how grateful she was. She would've been even more grateful, of course, if the package had contained some sort of hint about where another tribute might be. But for now, she would have to make do with what she had.

Suddenly, something caught in her throat. Something _hard._ Thalia's hands flew to her throat as she gasped for breath. There had been something _in_ the bread. But what? And why would the sponsors have put something in the bread? That didn't make any sense. Unless…

Were they really that unhappy with her? Had she really failed that badly? Thalia gasped as she fell to her knees, struggling to get the words out. To apologize. To plead with them. _Please. Please let me finish. I can do this._

But the words wouldn't come. Her mouth formed the words, but the air caught in her throat. Something was wrong. This was more than just choking. This was…

Poison. Something in the bread had been poisoned. Thalia collapsed, gasping, staring up at the stars. Then she saw it – a hint of movement in one of the cars of the Ferris wheel, high above her head. There was a _tribute_ up there. The package – it hadn't come from the sponsors at all. The tribute must have found one of the packages she'd already been sent – there had been enough of them, after all – and repackaged the bread inside. And something _inside_ the bread. Something.

But what?

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

She probably had no idea what had hit her. Izzy couldn't help a smile as the girl's cannon sounded. It had worked. It had actually _worked!_ She'd had her doubts, even as she'd carefully hidden the locket inside the bread. Everything had to work out just right in order for the girl to believe the package had come from the sponsors. She had to believe it was real, and even then, she had to take a bite out of _just_ the right place. Everything had to work out perfectly.

And it _had_. The girl from One had fallen for her trick. Izzy breathed a sigh of relief as the Ferris wheel slowly started turning. She had climbed up all on her own, but apparently the Gamemakers were content to let her down slowly, and she certainly wasn't going to complain. Even at such a leisurely pace, it didn't take long for her car to reach the bottom of the Ferris wheel. Once her feet were safely on the ground, she ventured a little closer to examine her handiwork. The loaf of bread, a large bite taken out of it, was still gripped firmly in the dead girl's hand. She hadn't even had time to let go.

Izzy allowed herself a smile as she picked up the older girl's rapier. There was no reason to, really. She'd already chosen several knives, a dagger, and a cleaver from the weapons that had been provided for the feast. But somehow, it felt like something the audience would like – taking a weapon from a dead Career.

That was _two_ Careers she'd killed. Four tributes in all. Izzy gripped the rapier tightly as she turned her attention back to the Ferris wheel. She hadn't really had time to look through the supplies for anything but what she'd needed for her plan. She'd been worried that the girl from One might return at any moment. But now that she was no longer a threat, Izzy could take her time sorting through the supplies for what she might need.

Of course, the list of things she might need was fairly short. With only four of them left, it didn't seem likely that the Games would last much longer. Or that the Gamemakers would _let_ them last much longer. But on the other hand, it wouldn't help her to start making assumptions now. She had thought the same thing after the feast, when there had been only five of them left. And it had been more than a day since then.

Izzy shook her head. Four tributes left. Only four. And she was one of them. Maybe she really _could_ do this. If she had come up with a way to kill a Career, maybe she could figure out how to kill the others without risking a real fight.

Because if she was being honest, none of the kills she'd made so far had been in a fair fight. She'd stabbed the girl from Two from behind. She hadn't even _meant_ to kill Dexter. She'd gotten lucky when she'd killed the girl from Six inside the ship. And now she'd taken out a second Career without having to draw a weapon. In a fair fight…

But maybe it didn't have to be a fair fight. There were only three other tributes left, and _none_ of them were Careers. It was Wade, Alexia, and the girl from Three. That was it. That was really it. They were her competition – the only competition she had left.

Maybe she really _could_ do this. Maybe she really could win. She just needed to last a little longer.

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

He'd been hoping the break in the action would last a little longer. Ever since the feast, the Gamemakers had seemed content to let the tributes be. To let them catch their breaths and give them a chance to prepare for the fight that was coming. But if that most recent cannon was anything to go by, things were finally going to start moving again.

He wasn't ready.

The pills were helping with the pain in his hands, but he still couldn't move them – not reliably, at least. He certainly wouldn't be able to grip a weapon. He would never win in a fair fight. He'd only made one kill, after all, and _that_ certainly hadn't been a fair fight. He'd simply walked up behind the other tribute and stabbed them in the back. He couldn't count on being able to do that again.

Wade glanced up at Alexia, who was staring into the fire they'd started in the wood stove to cook some of their food. She'd been silent ever since the last cannon, and he hadn't wanted to break the silence. They both knew what had to happen. There were only four tributes left. They were competition. He didn't want to end up fighting her, which meant that they would have to separate.

But he didn't _want_ to. Now that it came down to it, he didn't want to leave Alexia. She had been kind to him – kinder than he'd expected from anyone in the Games. Without her to protect him…

But it wasn't fair to ask her to protect him. She didn't really have any reason to. They were competition now, and each cannon brought them one step closer to having to fight each other. And as much as he didn't want to leave her, he _definitely_ didn't want to fight her.

"I think…" Wade started, but the words caught in his throat. _I think one of us should leave._ That was what he'd wanted to say. No, not what he'd _wanted_ to say, but what he'd _meant_ to say. But the words wouldn't come out.

Alexia stood up. "I think you should go."

Wade looked up at her, surprised. He hadn't really expected her to come to the same conclusion so quickly. "What?"

"I think you should go. There are only four of us left. We'll be better off on our own, especially if…"

If another cannon came soon. If more tributes started dying. He didn't want it to come down to the two of them. Wade rose unsteadily to his feet. "I … I don't want to."

"Go!" The scream was sudden. Surprising. Alexia bent down, and it took Wade a moment to register that she was reaching for a weapon. Wade stepped back in surprise, hesitating only a moment before snatching the bottle of pills and racing up onto the deck of the ship.

Tears stung his eyes as he ran from the ship. Whether they were tears of pain from the sudden jolting movements or tears of sadness, anger, fear, or something else, even he wasn't sure. He just knew that he had to get away. For his sake and for Alexia's. Now that they'd gotten this far, he was better off alone.

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

He would be better off alone. That was what she kept trying to tell herself as the moments passed, and then the hours. No more cannons sounded. Had she been wrong to chase him off so soon? She had assumed, with the most recent cannon, that the Gamemakers would want to speed things along. That maybe the finale would even start. And if that happened, she didn't want to end up having to fight Wade.

She didn't want to end up having to fight _anyone_. Alexia wrapped her arms around her legs as she stared into the fire. Four tributes. There were four tributes left. What would happen when she _did_ have to fight one of them? She'd been putting it off ever since the Games started, but she couldn't put it off forever. Not now that she was so close.

Alexia took out the letter from her parents, turning it over and over in her hands. Part of her had never really expected to get this far. District Ten only had two Victors, after all, and she hadn't really expected to be its third. But now that she was so close, it was almost starting to seem like a real possibility.

Almost.

But that meant she would have to fight. And that was something she hadn't done yet. Not really. She'd run from fights. She'd gotten her ass handed to her when she'd tried to fight the boy from One. But she hadn't really faced anyone in a real fight. A fair fight.

Alexia tucked the letter back into her pocket. No fight in the Games ever really seemed fair. Once it came down to a contest of strength and skill – and it _did_ usually get to that point, no matter how clever a tribute might be – the contest usually went to the tribute who could fight the hardest, last the longest. Did she really think that was going to be her?

Maybe. Maybe if that last cannon had belonged to the Career girl. That would leave Wade, Izzy, and Cosima. _Maybe_ those were fights she could win. Maybe.

But were they fights she wanted to win?

Alexia shook her head as she doused the fire and lay down. If the finale _wasn't_ starting now, she might as well try to get some sleep. She could worry about the rest in the morning. In the morning, she could worry about fighting her allies. Her _former_ allies. Allies she might have to kill.

Because as much as she liked them – all of them – she certainly wasn't going to just lie down and let one of them kill her. If it came to a fight – and, eventually, it _would_ come to a fight – then she would defend herself. She would have to.

That was what the Gamemakers counted on, after all. What kept the Games going, year after year. Once it came down to it, when faced with the choice between their life and the life of another, almost everyone would choose their own life. Yes, there was occasionally a tribute who would sacrifice themselves for an ally, but those were few and far between. Most would choose their own lives. _She_ would choose her own life. Maybe she hadn't had to _make_ that choice yet, but it was only a matter of time before she would. And she already knew what she would choose.

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

Part of her wished the Gamemakers would speed things along a little bit. When the cannon had woken her, Cosima had assumed the finale would be coming soon. There were only four of them left, after all. How much longer could the Games last? But the Gamemakers seemed content to let the four of them keep going for a little while.

Cosima closed her eyes again, trying to get some sleep. Chances were, if the Gamemakers were giving them a break, it was because they were going to need it. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to doze off. Every little noise, every faint rustling sound, _anything_ could be another tribute. Or a mutt. Or maybe the start of another fire.

Another fire didn't seem particularly likely, though. There wasn't much left in the arena that would burn. The Ferris wheel was still standing, and a few of the trees, and the two ships she'd seen. Other than that, most of the arena had been burned to a crisp.

Cosima leaned back against one of the trees, staring up into the branches, which were now bare. How many days had it been since the last time she had climbed one? She and Wade had climbed up into the trees to sleep a few nights ago, the pair of them so drunk they'd barely been able to make it up into the branches. The night after they'd killed the girl from Eight.

Well, after _she'd_ killed the girl from Eight. Wade had helped with the trap, of course, but she had thrown the spear. Her first kill. Her _only_ kill so far, actually. But if she was going to get out of here, it couldn't be her last.

Which meant she might have to kill him. Wade, that was. Or Alexia. She'd run from her former ally when she'd found her on the ship, but she might not have that option the next time. Unless, of course, the cannon had been hers. Or maybe Wade's. It was surprising enough that the twelve-year-old had made it this far; his luck couldn't last forever.

Yes, it was probably his. Either that or the other little kid's. The girl from Seven. They were both twelve. Both in _way_ over their heads. They'd had no idea what they were getting into.

Of course, neither of them had _chosen_ to get into it. Not like she had. Cosima felt around in her pocket for the note from her family. Sure enough, it was still there. She wondered what Alexia's had said. Or Wade's, or Izzy's. The Career girl's had probably just been congratulations on making it this far. Lasting this long was _expected_ of Careers. Nobody would have expected it of her.

Slowly, Cosima got to her feet and scrambled up into the tree. If the Gamemakers were really going to give them another night before the finale, then she might as well make the most of it. Once again, she closed her eyes. If she wasn't going to be able to get to sleep, the least she could do was rest her eyes. That was something, at least. And something was better than nothing.

* * *

 **And that brings us to the final four! Almost there, everybody! No more Careers - just four outer-district kids duking it out for our entertainment. ;)**

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.**

 **20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.**

 **19th - Stanley Newton, D3. Stabbed with a katana by Thalia Gold.**

 **18th - Cherry Thatch, D11. Stabbed with a spear by Decima Clear.**

 **17th - Garth Kain, D11. Stomach and throat sliced by Carlisle Talbot.**

 **16th - Emilia Rey Fumero, D12. Stabbed in the back by Wade Larthey.**

 **15th - Decima Clear, D2. Stabbed in the back by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **14th - Isabella Thatcher, D8. Drowned in a pit trap after being speared by Cosima Byte.**

 **13th - Troy Arrowhead, D12. Speared by Shasta Evans.**

 **12th - Freya Clearwater, D4. Head bashed in by Confidence Best.**

 **11th - Shasta Evans, D9. Stabbed and beaten by clown mutts.**

 **10th - Dexter Guernsey, D10. Strangled by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **9th - Carlisle Talbot, D6. Throat slit by Clemence Aldrin**

 **8th - Merric Belgrave, D4. Clubbed with a mace by Confidence Best.**

 **7th - Confidence Best, D1. Poisoned by Thalia Gold.**

 **6th - Clemence Aldrin, D6. Stabbed by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **5th - Thalia Gold, D1. Choked on her own district token after it was hidden in bread by Izzy Thatcher.**

* * *

 **District Placements:**

 **12th - District 11 - Best Placement: 17th**

 **11th - District 2 - Best Placement: 15th**

 **10th - District 8 - Best Placement: 14th**

 **9th - District 12 - Best Placement: 13th**

 **8th - District 9 - Best Placement: 11th**

 **7th - District 4 - Best Placement: 8th**

 **6th - District 6 - Best Placement: 6th**

 **5th - District 1 - Best Placement: 5th**


	43. Day Nine: All or Nothing

**Day Nine  
** **All or Nothing**

* * *

 _All or Nothing: A style of lottery where the odds of selecting all of the numbers drawn and selecting none of the numbers drawn are identical._

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

Part of her was surprised she'd managed to fall asleep at all. But it must have happened at some point because the next thing she knew, she was waking up. Slowly, Alexia got to her feet, careful not to hit her head against the ceiling. The deck of the ship. Cautiously, she made her way up to the main deck, looking out over the arena. It was morning, and she was still alive.

But that meant that the others were, too. There had been one cannon during the night, before Wade had left. Before she had chased him away. She had assumed, when she had told him to leave, that the finale would be approaching soon. That the Gamemakers would want to end things as quickly as possible.

Instead, it was the ninth day of the Games, and things were _still_ moving slowly. The sun was already high in the sky, she realized as she stared out at the arena. She had slept longer than she'd thought. Was the audience getting frustrated, or were they enjoying the suspense? Alexia shook her head. Unless she made it out of the arena alive, she would never know. But the odds were getting better and better with every cannon that sounded. Getting out alive was beginning to seem like a real possibility.

Slowly, she climbed down from the ship and started off towards a tent in the distance. If it _did_ come down to a fight between her and one of the others, she would have a better chance if they didn't already know exactly where to find her. And Wade, at least, knew that she had been on the ship. Cosima, too, now that she thought about it. Yes, it was probably better to get away from there. To find somewhere else. _Anywhere_ else.

And the tent seemed like as good an option as any. If someone came looking for her on the ship, she would be able to intercept them along the way. In theory, at least. Would she really be able to ambush someone who wasn't expecting an attack? Maybe. Maybe that would even be better. Maybe it was better if they never knew what hit them.

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

She would never know what hit her. Izzy took a deep breath as she climbed down from the Ferris wheel. She had thought, when the sun had come up, that it would provide a good vantage point to see any other tributes who might be coming. It had taken longer than she'd expected, but she had finally spotted the figure heading for the tent. Exactly who it was, she couldn't tell from this distance, but there were only three possibilities. Cosima, Wade, and Alexia. And she was pretty sure she could see long hair bouncing up and down, which ruled out Wade…

Or maybe she was just hoping. Just hoping that it wasn't Wade. Because even though she knew the other two, neither of them had saved her life. Chances were, neither of them _would_ have. But Wade … Wade had been more than an ally. He had been kind to her. He had _saved_ her. If it came down to it, of course, she would still have to kill him, but … well, she would just have to hope that someone else would do it for her. She didn't _want_ to be the one to do it.

So taking out the girl in the tent was probably her best move. Once she did that, the Gamemakers would have to start driving the other tributes together. And whoever was left was almost certain to be able to kill Wade, considering the condition he was in.

Okay. Izzy finally reached the ground, stretching her arms and legs. She'd been sitting in the car of the Ferris wheel for so long, it took her a while to get her bearings. Hopefully, the Gamemakers would realize that she had a plan, and would give her a little time before intervening.

Izzy shook her head. They didn't seem interested in intervening much lately, which was a bit odd considering how many mutts she'd seen near the start of the Games. The owls that had attacked them around the campfire. The clowns that had come after her and Alexia. The flaming horses that had appeared during the fire. Where were those things now that the Games were drawing to a close?

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

Part of him was surprised that he'd made it through the night, but he wasn't particularly surprised that he'd slept so long. He'd taken a few extra pills before falling asleep under one of the trees that was still standing. Even so, he woke to a rush of pain in his hands. Slowly, he unscrewed the top of the bottle and poured a few more pills into his hand. He didn't have many left, but if he was lucky, they wouldn't need to last long.

And if he _wasn't_ so lucky … well, then it wouldn't really matter, because he would be dead. Slowly, he got to his feet, stretching his legs, careful not to put any pressure on his bandaged hands. Food. He needed food. He hadn't taken any when he'd run away from the ship the night before. He'd just wanted to get away as quickly as possible. He'd assumed – as had Alexia, apparently – that the Games would be ending soon.

But not _that_ soon, it seemed. Wade glanced around, and the Ferris wheel caught his eye. That was where the supplies had been during the feast. Would there still be some there? Maybe. It seemed as good a place to go as anywhere else.

One step. Then another. Okay. Okay, maybe things weren't so bad. He would head to the Ferris wheel. Get some food and water. Then he could worry about the rest.

The rest. Right. Then he could worry about the fact that he was alone and unarmed, that he was injured when the rest of the tributes were probably doing just fine. Well, except Alexia and her shoulder, but at least he knew where she was. Or, at least, he knew where she _had_ been. She may very well have decided to leave the ship.

Wade took a deep breath. If she had, it was probably a good thing that he was headed in the opposite direction. Well, more or less. He would just have to hope that he wasn't headed towards anyone else.

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

No one seemed to be heading in her direction. Cosima climbed down from the tree where she'd spent the night, more than a little surprised that it was already so late in the morning. Apparently, the Gamemakers weren't particularly eager to speed things along. Still, they wouldn't be able to let the Games stretch on forever – not when there were only four of them left.

She was assuming, of course, that there hadn't been any more cannons during the night. She was fairly certain they would have woken her, and that the Gamemakers would have stepped in to drive the remaining tributes together once they were down to three. Then again, she'd thought the same thing when they'd gotten down to five, and then four. At this point, there was probably no predicting what the Gamemakers were up to.

Maybe that was the point. Maybe they were trying to keep the tributes on their toes, make sure they couldn't predict what was going to happen next. Cosima glanced around at the surrounding area. If that was the idea, it was certainly working. She had no idea where any of the other tributes might be. Alexia _had_ been on the ship, but that had been a whole day ago. What were the chances that she was still there?

Not good. Cosima opened her pack and ate a little of the food she and Alexia had taken from the feast. Then a little more. There was no need to ration it, really. She had more than enough to last her a few days, and the Games weren't likely to last much longer. Even if they did, she could always go back to the Ferris wheel for more. The Gamemakers had been quite generous with the amount of supplies they'd left at the feast.

Cosima shook her head. No. No, the Gamemakers weren't generous. That wasn't right. They could _never_ be generous, because any action they might take to help the tributes last longer would only prolong the inevitable. No matter what they did, it wouldn't change the fact that only one tribute could survive the arena. They weren't trying to be kind; they were trying to give the audience a good show. There was a difference.

Wasn't there?

* * *

 **Alexia Wright, 17  
** **District Ten**

There didn't seem to be anything useful in the tent. Not that she'd been expecting to find anything, really. Not that there was anything she _needed_. But she hadn't expected it to be so empty. Then again, the tent was situated pretty close to both the ship she'd been on and the Ferris wheel. Chances were, someone had already been through here and taken anything useful.

Alexia settled down, leaning back against one of the tent poles. Maybe that was for the best. If the other tributes had already been through here, maybe it meant they wouldn't be coming back anytime soon. Maybe they would assume that any tribute who found the tent would realize there was nothing there and move on.

Maybe. Or maybe not. In any case, it seemed as good a place as any to stay for a little while. Alexia took some of the food out of her pack and settled down for some breakfast. Or lunch. Or whatever meal it was now. It was food; that was the important thing. And there didn't really seem to be a shortage of it.

Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in her back – a pain that pierced through to her chest. Alexia looked down, gasping, to see something sticking out of her chest. A long, thin blade. She couldn't help a cry of pain as the blade was drawn out again and disappeared back through the fabric of the tent, dripping blood along the way. "Help!" she called.

Such a stupid thing to shout. Who was going to come and help her? Chances were, the only one who had heard her was the tribute who had been holding the blade. Alexia pitched forward, blood splattering all over the floor of the tent as she tried desperately to find something to stop the bleeding.

It was useless. Everything was starting to grow darker. She could barely see the outline of the little girl from Seven. Izzy. The girl who had joined her at the campfire all those nights ago. They had sung songs together. And now…

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

 _Boom._ The sound of the cannon shook the walls of the tent as the girl's body went still. Alexia. That was her name. Izzy reached down and closed the older girl's eyes. She'd followed her to the tent, hoping for an opportunity to sneak up behind her. It hadn't taken her long to get her wish.

Izzy knelt down, sifting through the girl's supplies. To her surprise, she found a letter – a letter with her own name on it. What was the other girl doing with that? And it wasn't the only one. There was one for Alexia, as well, and one for the Career girl – Thalia. They must have been at the feast; that was the only explanation. And instead of taking her own, the girl had taken all of them.

All of them except Wade's and Cosima's. What did that mean? Wade certainly hadn't taken his; he hadn't gone to the feast. And Cosima … Maybe she had gotten hers first. Izzy's fingers trembled as she opened the letter. _Silly._ There was no reason to be afraid of a letter from her father. He was probably worried sick about her, just like he always was. Except this time he had a pretty good reason.

Izzy slowly took the letter from the envelope. Sure enough, in her father's careful handwriting were the words, "Stay safe." She quickly skimmed the rest of the letter. He loved her. He was proud of how far she'd gotten. He couldn't wait for her to come home. All of the things one might expect a parent to say if they got a chance to send a message to a child in the Hunger Games.

Izzy tucked the letter carefully in her pocket. The fact that her father hadn't said anything particularly memorable or unique didn't make the letter any less precious. It was a little bit of home, a little reminder of everything she had left to fight for, to come back to.

And she was so close now. There were only three of them left. Only three tributes. Only two more who would have to die before she could go home. Izzy wiped the blood off the rapier she'd taken from the Career. _Her_ rapier now. But it was a weapon she wouldn't have to use much longer, one way or another.

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

One way or another, the Games weren't likely to last much longer now. Wade shook his head as he passed the Ferris wheel, heading for the pond in the distance. Why bother sorting through the supplies that might or might not still be at the Ferris wheel when there was plenty of water just sitting there?

Once he'd reached the pond, he settled down near the edge and dipped his hands in the water. It was cold, but the water was refreshing. Carefully, he unwrapped the bandages around his hands and let them soak, then gingerly cupped his hands and brought some of the water to his lips. Even that brief movement sent a rush of pain through his hands. He reached for the pills in his pocket. He'd been trying to ration them, but they wouldn't have to last much longer.

There were only three of them left. The sun was beginning to dip a bit lower in the sky. It would be night before they knew it. Maybe that was what the Gamemakers were waiting for. Maybe. Or maybe they'd simply fallen asleep. It certainly didn't seem like they were interested in hurrying things along.

Wade stretched his arms, staring out at the water. The Games seemed to be moving along just fine even without their interference. There were only three of them left. Soon, they would be down to two. And then…

And then there would only be one. Wade swallowed hard, trying to imagine any scenario where that one tribute could be him. Maybe if the other two tributes – whoever they were – went after each other. Maybe…

Just then, something caught his eye near the edge of the water. A trident, the end sticking out of the water. Wade swallowed another one of his pills, then reached for the weapon. It was something, at least. Maybe the sight of it would be enough to make a tribute think twice about attacking him.

Probably not. Not this late in the Games. But it made him feel good, knowing that he had something. Wade stabbed down into the water absently, and a few fish scattered around him. If only the other tributes were as afraid of him as the fish were.

* * *

 **Cosima Byte, 18  
** **District Three**

The boy certainly didn't look all that intimidating, despite the weapon in his hand. Cosma crouched low behind a boulder, hoping that Wade wouldn't notice her. She didn't particularly _want_ to attack him, but, now that it came down to it, there wasn't much choice left. There were only three of them. It was either her or him. And she knew which one she would choose.

It hadn't taken her long to find him. The pond had seemed like a natural place for tributes to go now that pretty much everything in the arena had been burned down. She had been hoping that _someone_ would be there, but she hadn't really wanted it to be him.

Cosima shook the thought from her head. It didn't matter. _Shouldn't_ matter. It shouldn't matter that he was so young, that he had been her ally, that he was clearly already injured. Right now, he was her competition.

That was all that mattered.

Suddenly, as if he'd heard her, Wade's head perked up. Immediately, he took off running, quickly dropping the trident as he ran. He ran towards the Ferris wheel in the distance, and Cosima sprinted after him. For a moment, he glanced back, maybe hoping to figure out who he was running from. He was surprisingly fast. Or maybe she was just tired.

As he neared the Ferris wheel, it started to turn. Slowly at first, but then faster and faster. He reached the Ferris wheel a few seconds before she did and quickly dove into one of the cars. Cosima took a deep breath, gathering her wits, and jumped into the next one. The wheel continued to turn. Faster and faster. She would have to figure out a way to reach him. But the cars didn't seem likely to slow down, and he certainly wasn't going to move.

Which meant that _she_ would have to. Slowly, carefully, she crawled out onto the metal arm that attached the car to the wheel. It was slippery and cold, but she held on tight, slowly making her way towards Wade's car.

Suddenly, something came flying towards her head. An apple. Cosima almost laughed. It must have been in the pack of supplies in Wade's car. She held on tighter as another piece of fruit came flying towards her. The next one struck her in the shoulder, but still she held on.

Carefully, she reached for the next bar. The fruit stopped. Maybe he had run out of things to throw. She certainly hoped so. Wade ducked behind the side of the car as she pulled herself a little closer. Then a little more. Finally, she could reach the side of his car. She would have to be quick. In one quick motion, she let go of the bar she had been clinging to and grabbed hold of the side of Wade's car.

Then she saw the knife.

The knife came down hard against her right hand, plunging in deep. Instinctively, she let go of the car as Wade yanked the knife out, which left her hanging by the other hand. _Shit_. The knife came down again. Quickly, she reached for the next bar over and grabbed hold, letting go of the car.

But the blood – her own blood – made the bar too slippery. Her right hand slipped first, and then her left. Then she was tumbling down, down past the Ferris wheel and to the ground below.

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

He was still alive. As Alexia's cannon sounded, the knife slipped from Wade's trembling hands and clattered to the floor of the Ferris wheel car. She was dead. He was still alive. That meant there was only one tribute left. But who?

The sun was sinking lower in the sky, the arena growing darker. Faster than it should have. Maybe the Gamemakers were finally going to bring this to an end. Soon, the sound of the Capitol anthem filled the air, and the faces began to appear.

Wade nearly laughed aloud when he saw the first one – the Career girl from One. Cosima's face appeared next, sending a churning through Wade's stomach. If he had just killed Alexia, that only left one person. One other tribute alive in the arena, and now he knew who it was. Izzy.

That should have been good news. She was his age, after all. Someone he might actually be able to beat in a fight, under the right circumstances. Wade leaned back against the pole in the center of the car as the Ferris wheel continued to turn. Maybe he could. But he didn't _want_ to kill Izzy. But now he had no choice. It was her or him.

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

It was either him or her now. Izzy watched silently as Alexia's face appeared in the sky, confirming that Wade was the other tribute. The only one still alive. How he'd managed it, she wasn't sure. He was probably wondering the same thing about her.

Under other circumstances, it might have been funny. Hilarious, even. They were the only two twleve-year-olds in the Games this year, and _they_ were the ones still alive. What were the chances of that? Under other circumstances, she might have laughed.

But it wasn't funny. It made her sick. Wade had saved her life, although now he was probably wishing he hadn't. The idea of killing him in return felt … wrong. He probably felt the same way about killing someone he had already saved. But now they had no choice. Only one of them could make it out of the arena alive.

Izzy swallowed hard, clutching her rapier as she glanced around the arena. It probably wouldn't be long before the Gamemakers drove them together, before they gave her some hint about where to find him. Then she would have to fight him. She would have to kill him. Then – and only then – she could go home.

* * *

 **Yep, you read that right. One 12-year-old is going to be our Victor, and the other is going to be our runner-up ... but which is which? Find out next chapter!**

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.**

 **20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.**

 **19th - Stanley Newton, D3. Stabbed with a katana by Thalia Gold.**

 **18th - Cherry Thatch, D11. Stabbed with a spear by Decima Clear.**

 **17th - Garth Kain, D11. Stomach and throat sliced by Carlisle Talbot.**

 **16th - Emilia Rey Fumero, D12. Stabbed in the back by Wade Larthey.**

 **15th - Decima Clear, D2. Stabbed in the back by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **14th - Isabella Thatcher, D8. Drowned in a pit trap after being speared by Cosima Byte.**

 **13th - Troy Arrowhead, D12. Speared by Shasta Evans.**

 **12th - Freya Clearwater, D4. Head bashed in by Confidence Best.**

 **11th - Shasta Evans, D9. Stabbed and beaten by clown mutts.**

 **10th - Dexter Guernsey, D10. Strangled by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **9th - Carlisle Talbot, D6. Throat slit by Clemence Aldrin**

 **8th - Merric Belgrave, D4. Clubbed with a mace by Confidence Best.**

 **7th - Confidence Best, D1. Poisoned by Thalia Gold.**

 **6th - Clemence Aldrin, D6. Stabbed by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **5th - Thalia Gold, D1. Choked on her own district token after it was hidden in bread by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **4th - Alexia Wright, D10. Stabbed by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **3rd - Cosima Byte, D3. Fell off a Ferris Wheel after being stabbed by Wade Larthey.**

* * *

 **District Placements:**

 **12th - District 11 - Best Placement: 17th**

 **11th - District 2 - Best Placement: 15th**

 **10th - District 8 - Best Placement: 14th**

 **9th - District 12 - Best Placement: 13th**

 **8th - District 9 - Best Placement: 11th**

 **7th - District 4 - Best Placement: 8th**

 **6th - District 6 - Best Placement: 6th**

 **5th - District 1 - Best Placement: 5th**

 **4th - District 10 - Best Placement: 4th**

 **3rd - District 3 - Best Placement: 3rd**


	44. Finale: Winner Take All

**Finale  
** **Winner Take All**

* * *

 _Winner Take All: A competition in which only the winner is rewarded and none of the losers get anything._

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

She hadn't imagined that this was how it was going to end. It was down to her and Wade – one of the last people she would have imagined getting this far. He was injured, and that should have made it a little better. A little easier to picture killing him. It wouldn't take much to overpower him in his condition. But…

But…

Izzy took a deep breath. Then another. Given the chance, he would kill her. Wouldn't he? Sure, he may have saved her before, but that had probably been a move towards self-preservation as much as anything else. He'd known that he would need help in his condition. He hadn't saved her because he'd _wanted_ to keep her safe.

Had he?

Even if he had, he wouldn't hesitate to kill her now. He couldn't. Not when he'd come this far. She just had to remember that. To hold onto that thought when it came time to kill him, instead. There was no other way out of this. It was her or him. That was all there was to it.

Izzy turned the rapier over in her hands, waiting. Just waiting. She had assumed, when the last cannon had sounded, that the Gamemakers would want to bring them together. That they would give her some hint about Wade was. But maybe … maybe they were doing the opposite. Maybe they were going to lead him to _her_ , instead. Maybe it was best to just stay put.

No. No, she couldn't just stay put. Not now that she was so close. She couldn't just wait here and surrender the element of surprise to him. If he found her, he might have a chance. But if _she_ was the one to find him…

That would probably tip the scales even more in her favor. Izzy glanced around once more, then headed back towards the Ferris wheel. It would be a good vantage point to be able to see the rest of the arena. It was how she'd found Alexia, after all. Maybe she would get lucky again.

If not, the Gamemakers would come up with something else. Some way to drive them together. It was only a matter of time.

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

It was only a matter of time before she found him. Wade crouched low in the Ferris wheel car, peering over the edge. The Ferris wheel had slowed since Cosima's cannon, easily enough to allow him to get off any time his car reached the bottom. Instead, he'd stayed, sifting through the bag of supplies in the car with him, searching for anything useful.

He still had his knife, of course. Aside from the apples he'd thrown at Cosima, the bag contained a few loaves of bread, some crackers and pretzels, a baseball, and another knife. Not much, perhaps, but he wasn't going to win this by force. That had never been the plan.

The plan. As if there _was_ a plan. As if he'd ever _had_ a plan. He'd been winging it since the start of the Games, and it was practically a miracle that he'd made it this far. He'd gotten lucky – luckier than he'd had any right to expect. Maybe…

Maybe he could get lucky just _one_ more time.

Wade peeked over the edge of the car as it neared the top of the Ferris wheel. Just then, he saw her. She was headed straight for him. Well, straight for the Ferris wheel, at least. Maybe she didn't know where he was. She certainly wasn't looking up at him, and probably wouldn't be able to see him in this light even if she did. Not with the way he was hidden inside the car. Maybe he would be able to drop something on her head if she got close enough.

Wade shook the thought from his head. No. No, he couldn't count on getting _that_ lucky. And as soon as he did anything to give away his position, he would lose the element of surprise. Right now, that was pretty much the only thing he had going for him. The only thing he could really count on.

 _Think_.

But it was getting hard to think. His heart was pounding, the sound echoing in his ears. What was he supposed to do? Izzy would reach the Ferris wheel at any moment, and once she did, it was only a matter of time before she saw him.

Wade glanced down at his supplies. He had two knives. Maybe once she got close enough, he could throw them. But could he really depend on his aim?

Did he really have any other choice?

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

There weren't really many options available to her. Izzy gripper her rapier as she neared the Ferris wheel, which was now glowing again in the dim evening light. Would she really be able to see anything from the Ferris wheel in the dark? Probably not. But the Gamemakers hadn't given her any sign that she was heading in the wrong direction.

Of course, they hadn't given her any sign that she was on the _right_ track, either. They'd been oddly silent on the matter. Maybe they were just as confused as everyone else, just as unsure about what to do about the predicament they'd found themselves in. Had they _meant_ to end up with two twelve-year-old tributes in the finale? Or were they just as flabbergasted as everyone else probably was?

There was only one way to find out for sure, of course. She had to get out of here. She had to make it home. And that would only happen if she found Wade.

If she _killed_ Wade.

Izzy shook the thought from her head. She could worry about that part when she found him. For now, her best chance was to try to get a glimpse of him from the Ferris wheel. The wheel was turning slowly – slowly enough for her to climb into one of the cars. She just had to wait for it to get to the top.

As the car began to rise, however, something flew past her head. Izzy nearly leapt clear out of the car as she turned in the direction the object had come from. Sure enough, there was Wade, in a car clear on the other side of the Ferris wheel. What had he thrown? She hadn't gotten a good look. Surely he wouldn't be stupid enough to throw away a weapon. His aim wasn't that good. _Couldn't_ be that good with the condition his hands were in.

Still, he'd nearly gotten lucky. She couldn't give him another chance. She ducked a little lower inside the car, trying to think. What could she do? She had no way to get to him. Trying to climb to the other side of the Ferris wheel was suicide. Even if he didn't have anything left to throw, the chances of falling seemed pretty high. And even if she got close enough, then what? If he had any sort of weapon left, he could attack her as she tried to climb into his car.

She had a rapier. Not exactly great for throwing. There didn't seem to be much in the car she was sitting in. The bag in front of her was full of something soft. Clothes, she realized as she dug through it. Not exactly helpful.

Something flew through the air, landing harmlessly on the ground below without even coming near her. A loaf of bread. Was he really out of things to throw? Maybe. Or maybe he was trying to get a good feel for his aim by throwing things that were useless. Maybe he was testing the waters, so to speak.

She couldn't afford to give him time to test them much longer. There was no telling what else he might have in his car. She would have to do _something_ , and fast.

Izzy held her breath as her car circled around to the bottom of the Ferris wheel. She could get off. But what good would that do? Maybe she could get back in a car closer to his. But climbing would still be just as bad an idea. Maybe she could get in _his_ car. But if she waited for his car to get close enough, he might be able to throw something at her.

So she stayed in the car.

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

She had stayed in the car. But that didn't mean he had to. He could climb out once his car reached the bottom of the Ferris wheel. It would be a half a rotation before Izzy could follow him. He would have a good head start.

But where was he supposed to go? There was nowhere he could run – not really. She would eventually catch up to him; the Gamemakers would make sure of that. Wade peeked over the edge of the car as it passed the bottom of the Ferris wheel. Izzy's car was at the top. She was looking down at him – maybe wondering if he was going to get off.

He didn't.

He couldn't.

There had to be something else he could do. There had to be a better plan. Wade sifted through the supplies that remained. He still had his knife, as well as an assortment of food and a baseball. Wade glanced over at Izzy as the cars leveled out, halfway between the top and the bottom. She was waiting, too. Maybe waiting for him to make a move. Maybe trying to figure out the same thing he was – how to get from one side of the Ferris wheel to the other without risking falling off.

"Wade!" she called as her car dropped lower. "I'm … I'm sorry."

Sorry for what? Sorry that she was planning to kill him? Sorry that she was going to try to kill someone who had saved her life? But try as he might, he couldn't really blame her for that. He would have done the same thing.

He _was_ doing the same thing.

Maybe Izzy hadn't saved his life, but she'd taken care of him. She'd tried to help him. They'd been allies. Friends. But only one of them could survive this. She understood that.

Her car neared the bottom, and still she didn't get off. If she _did_ have a plan, it apparently didn't involve getting off the Ferris wheel. Wade turned the baseball over in his hands. Maybe if he threw it just right…

He waited for the Ferris wheel cars to draw level, and then raised it. Izzy's eyes widened. Just a little. Just enough. Just enough to remind him…

It wasn't a baseball.

Okay. Okay, new plan. Wade took a deep breath. He couldn't count on making it into her car. Even if he did, he couldn't count on it going off – not immediately, not without some sort of impact. And what if she caught it? She could simply toss it right back at him, and her aim might be better.

No. No, he needed to be sure. He needed a closer target.

Something point-blank.

Because he wouldn't get a second chance.

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

Shit.

Shit, shit, _shit._

She saw Wade lower the baseball. His car was dropping. Hers was rising. Apparently, he'd decided not to throw it. Which only left one real option.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

She looked down in time to see Wade leap out of his Ferris wheel car, baseball still in hand. He raised it high, flung it at the base of the Ferris wheel, and then dove out of the way, covering his head with his hands.

The explosion shook the Ferris wheel. She could feel it starting to crumble. Her car was only a little past the top. She didn't have time to think.

She jumped.

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

He saw Izzy jump as the Ferris wheel began to tumble. But that was the last thing he saw before ducking away from the debris, shielding his head with his hands. Smoke filled the air. Something struck his shoulder. Wade cried out in pain, hoping that the scream wouldn't attract Izzy's attention if she was still alive.

No, there was no 'if.' There hadn't been a cannon, so she was still alive. Wade waited a moment for the debris to settle. Then a moment longer. Finally, he risked sitting up a little. His shoulder was bleeding, and he was covered in dirt that had sprayed up when the pieces of the Ferris wheel had hit the ground. But aside from that…

He was alive. That was the important thing. Wade rose unsteadily to his feet, swaying a little. Where was Izzy? She could be anywhere in the dark and the haze that filled the air. Now that the lights from the Ferris wheel were gone, the arena was dark except for the light of the moon. Would he be able to see an attack coming?

Would Izzy be in any condition to attack?

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

She was certainly in no condition to attack anyone right now. Izzy groaned a little, hoping the sound wouldn't be loud enough to attract Wade. There had been no cannon, so he was still alive. And so was she.

Alive. That was the important thing. Slowly, Izzy got to her knees. She had landed awkwardly on her left arm, which hung limp at her side as she rose a little. Probably broken. She tried to move it a little, and was met with a rush of pain. Yes, almost certainly broken. But the Capitol would be able to fix that in no time, if she won.

Wade had probably been counting on the fall killing her, but apparently she'd gotten lucky. She'd landed on a softer patch of ground, and the larger pieces of debris had missed her entirely. If she hadn't had the guts to jump…

She would be dead. But she wasn't. She was still alive, and so was Wade. Izzy forced herself to her feet, steadying herself against one of the nearby pieces of debris as she took a look around. It was dark now – too dark to see much. Wade could be hiding anywhere. Behind any of the pieces of the Ferris wheel.

Suddenly, something struck her from behind. Wade. She'd lost her rapier when she'd jumped, but apparently he'd lost his weapons, as well – if he'd still had any after throwing the knife at her. Instead, he tackled her from behind, pulling her to the ground along with him. Pain shot through her arm as she landed, kicking at Wade, struggling to get away. Wade cried out in pain was one of her kicks met its target, but he didn't let go.

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

He didn't let go. He _couldn't_ let go. Wade's arms wrapped around Izzy's waist as she kicked and thrashed. The two of them tumbled on the ground, rolling this way and that. Izzy trying to get loose, Wade struggling to hold on. As long as he could hold on from behind, he had the upper hand. But how much longer would he really be able to hold on?

Izzy's arm swung backwards, her fist striking his nose. Tears stung Wade's eyes as he let go with one hand, reaching up towards Izzy's neck. She elbowed him in the side, but still he held on, his arm finally wrapping around her throat.

Izzy thrashed harder. Trying to shake him loose so she could get the upper hand. Wade closed his eyes. _Just hold on._ He just had to hold on a little longer.

* * *

 **Izzy Thatcher, 12  
** **District Seven**

She just had to last a little longer than he did. Izzy struck out as hard as she could, kicking, flailing her good arm. She landed blow after blow, but still Wade held on. His arm was wrapping tighter around her throat. Tighter. Tighter. It was getting harder to breathe. Izzy pounded at his hands with her fist, knowing that would be where he was the most vulnerable.

Still, he didn't let go.

Everything was growing dark. Fuzzy. Her lungs felt like they were burning, but this was worse than when she had been caught in the smoke and the flames. Izzy landed one more blow to Wade's hands, but her arms were beginning to feel heavy. The next time, her fist didn't reach Wade. Her arm dropped limply to the ground.

She barely heard Wade whisper, "I'm sorry, too, Izzy."

Then everything went black.

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **District Five**

"I'm sorry, too, Izzy." Wade blinked the tears out of his eyes as Izzy's arms dropped to the ground, her body finally going still in his arms. "I'm so sorry. I wish…"

His words were interrupted by the sound of a cannon. Izzy's cannon. Wade finally removed his arm from Izzy's throat. "Ladies and gentlemen!" a voice boomed through the arena. "Congratulations to the Victor of the 32nd Hunger Games, Wade Larthey from District Five!"

Wade's whole body was shaking as Izzy's slipped to the ground. Gently, he reached over and closed her eyelids. His hands were trembling. Everything hurt. He couldn't even stand on his own, and he didn't really want to try. Not yet. He didn't even want to move yet. It hurt too much.

But he was alive.

He had won.

None of the rest mattered.

Wade's gaze strayed to Izzy's body. None of the rest _should_ matter. It should be enough that he was alive. That was what he'd wanted, after all, ever since his name had been called. He'd just wanted to survive. He'd just wanted to win. And now he had.

So why didn't it feel like he'd won?

* * *

 **And we have our winner! Congratulations to Wade and to his submitter, BabyRue11, and thank you to everyone who submitted. It's been fun.**

 **I should have one more chapter for you soon, and then I'll be taking a break for the holidays. I'll probably be back eventually for another.**

* * *

 **24th - Owen Askoya, D8. Killed by Troy Arrowhead with an explosive baseball.**

 **23rd - Martha Cabott, D9. Decapitated by Thalia Gold.**

 **22nd - Ichabod Garjan, D7. Stabbed through the chest by Thalia Gold.**

 **21st - Deimos Martel, D2. Stabbed through the back by Garth Kain.**

 **20th - Emerson Watt, D5. Stabbed (accidentally) by Garth Kain.**

 **19th - Stanley Newton, D3. Stabbed with a katana by Thalia Gold.**

 **18th - Cherry Thatch, D11. Stabbed with a spear by Decima Clear.**

 **17th - Garth Kain, D11. Stomach and throat sliced by Carlisle Talbot.**

 **16th - Emilia Rey Fumero, D12. Stabbed in the back by Wade Larthey.**

 **15th - Decima Clear, D2. Stabbed in the back by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **14th - Isabella Thatcher, D8. Drowned in a pit trap after being speared by Cosima Byte.**

 **13th - Troy Arrowhead, D12. Speared by Shasta Evans.**

 **12th - Freya Clearwater, D4. Head bashed in by Confidence Best.**

 **11th - Shasta Evans, D9. Stabbed and beaten by clown mutts.**

 **10th - Dexter Guernsey, D10. Strangled by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **9th - Carlisle Talbot, D6. Throat slit by Clemence Aldrin**

 **8th - Merric Belgrave, D4. Clubbed with a mace by Confidence Best.**

 **7th - Confidence Best, D1. Poisoned by Thalia Gold.**

 **6th - Clemence Aldrin, D6. Stabbed by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **5th - Thalia Gold, D1. Choked on her own district token after it was hidden in bread by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **4th - Alexia Wright, D10. Stabbed by Izzy Thatcher.**

 **3rd - Cosima Byte, D3. Fell off a Ferris Wheel after being stabbed by Wade Larthey.**

 **2nd - Izzy Thatcher, D7. Strangled by Wade Larthey.**

 **Victor - Wade Larthey, D5.**

* * *

 **District Placements:**

 **12th - District 11 - Best Placement: 17th**

 **11th - District 2 - Best Placement: 15th**

 **10th - District 8 - Best Placement: 14th**

 **9th - District 12 - Best Placement: 13th**

 **8th - District 9 - Best Placement: 11th**

 **7th - District 4 - Best Placement: 8th**

 **6th - District 6 - Best Placement: 6th**

 **5th - District 1 - Best Placement: 5th**

 **4th - District 10 - Best Placement: 4th**

 **3rd - District 3 - Best Placement: 3rd**

 **2nd - District 7 - Best Placement: 2nd**

 **1st - District 5 - Best Placement: 1st**


	45. Epilogue: Cashing In

**Epilogue  
** **Cashing In**

* * *

 _Cashing In: To retire from a gambling game._

* * *

 **Wade Larthey, 12  
** **Victor of the 32nd Hunger Games**

 _You're our hero, Wade!_ Wade closed his eyes as soon as he saw the drawing, lying beside him on the bed. They must have taken it from his pocket after they'd taken him from the arena. Everything was a bit fuzzy after that. But before…

Wade leaned back against his pillow. He wasn't a hero. Heroes didn't kill people – and even if they did, they certainly didn't kill their _friends_. He'd killed three people. Two of them had been his allies at one point or another. And Izzy…

No, he wasn't a hero.

The door creaked open. Wade opened his eyes in time to see Melvin enter. His mentor took a seat at his side, smiling a little. "How do you feel?"

For a moment, Wade didn't answer. Physically … the pain was gone. His right shoulder and his hands were completely numb, and both were bandaged. An IV line was tucked under one of the bandages. His throat was dry, and the lights were too bright. But he was alive.

That was the important thing.

"Thirsty," he said at last. It probably wasn't the answer Melvin had been looking for, and it certainly didn't sum up how he felt, but it was something. It was a start. It was something concrete, something Melvin could do something about. Melvin disappeared into the next room for a moment and returned with a glass of juice and a straw. Wade reached for the glass, fumbling through the bandages. Finally, he managed to grasp it between both hands.

"Give it time," Melvin offered. "It'll take time for everything to heal, but you'll get there."

"Did you?"

Melvin nodded. "It took a while, but … yes. I got there. The memories will always be there, but they won't always be so … so sharp." He placed a hand on Wade's good shoulder. "It won't happen immediately, and it'll take a lot of work, but you'll get through it. I know it's hard to believe now, but the worst part is over."

The worst part. The Games. The arena. That was over, yes. Wade took a sip of juice before the drawing caught his eye again. "I'm not a hero," he mumbled. "I told Alexia that in the Games."

"Maybe not," Melvin agreed. "But there are a lot of people who are going to see you as one. You did the impossible, Wade. A twelve-year-old Victor – from District Five, of all places? The Capitol loves you. District Five is going to love you. Your family … well, I'm sure they'll be thrilled that you're back."

His family. Wade took the drawing in his hands, laying the glass of juice down on the nightstand beside him. They had wanted him to come back; that was a strange feeling in and of itself. His parents had always seemed more interested in nagging him to clean his room and do his homework and all that than they had seemed interested in _him_. But maybe now things would be different.

No. There was no 'maybe.' Things _would_ be different. Everything would be different. But maybe that difference didn't have to be a bad one. Maybe…

Maybe he _could_ be a hero. He certainly wasn't one now, but he _could_ be. Because of him, District Five would have an extra year of food and supplies, as a reward for his victory. And he would have enough to live on for the rest of his life. More than enough. He could do something good with that.

That was what Izzy would have done.

Wade brushed the tears from his eyes. She was gone. They all were. Izzy and Cosima and Clemence and Alexia and Emerson and … and _all_ of them. He was the only one left. But that didn't mean he had to forget them. Whatever he did with his life now, he owed it in part to them.

And he wasn't going to let them down.

* * *

 **Six Months Later**

"Wake up, Wade!" His little brother Wilson's voice rang through the halls of their new house. _New_. Wade smiled at the thought. Maybe eventually he would stop thinking of his mansion in Victor's Village as 'new,' but it would probably take a while. That was what Melvin was always saying. _Give it time_.

He got dressed slowly, his hands still shaking a little. His fingers still didn't have all of their old dexterity back, and he had a feeling buttons would always give him a bit of trouble. But things like that were the reason elastic had been invented. Wade pulled on a pair of black pants, a plain red shirt, black socks, and black shoes with velcro straps. Then he slipped on a pair of red gloves.

The gloves had been Wilson's idea; he thought they made him look like one of the heroes out of his comic books. Wade had gone along with the idea, mostly because it kept people from seeing how much his hands still shook. He didn't want them feeling sorry for him.

Not when he had so much to do.

Wade hurried down the hall to the kitchen, where Melvin was waiting. "You're late," he insisted. "They want some video of you down at the orphanage before the start of the tour."

Wade grabbed one of the muffins from the counter before he was enveloped by his little brothers. His mother ruffled his hair. "We'll miss you, but we'll be waiting _right_ here when you get back."

Wade nodded, his mouth full of muffin as he followed Melvin out the door and down the road to the orphanage. In the past six months, he'd used a sizable portion of his earnings to pay for renovations to the old building. It had seemed like a good place to start. If he was going to be famous throughout Panem as the youngest Victor, he might as well use his position to make sure that other youngsters had a fighting chance.

One of the younger boys greeted him at the door with a stack of papers. "Wade! Look what I made."

Wade glanced down, and he couldn't help a smile. The drawing that Wilson had sent him in the arena had certainly caught on with the younger children, who couldn't help drawing him in a snazzy, fiery red outfit. The stack of papers was a story, loosely drawn in the child's sloppy sketches. He couldn't make out everything, but it seemed to focus on a superhero team that consisted of a red-clad boy and girl and their flaming horse.

Wade gave the boy a pat on the head. "I love it, Lee. Why don't you run inside and get the other boys?"

Lee ran off, and Wade glanced up at Melvin. "You're a hero to them," his mentor said softly.

Wade nodded a little. What he had done in the Games certainly didn't make him a hero. But maybe … maybe the Games had turned him into the sort of person who could _become_ a hero. Maybe the fact that he had survived was enough to give hope to some of these children. And maybe – just maybe – that was good enough.

It was certainly a start.

* * *

 _In memory of Stan Lee._


End file.
